LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.^ 



^ 



Shelf il.5-_- - 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




TRANSITION SCENE. 

" From dusty law-books Avhat an awful stride 
To tliat briglit seat the beaming: Miise beside ! " 

p. 94. 



INSIDE THE BAR 



OTHER OCCASIONAL POEMS 




JOHN W. M AY 



'■J 



'Avt insanit homo, mtt versus /aci«."— Horace. 



f SEP 6 







PORTLAND. ME.: 
HOTT, FOGG & DONHAM. 

1884. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, 

BY 

JOHN W. MAY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at "Washington. 



JOURNAL PRESS, LEWISTON, ME. 



Auburn, Me., Feb. 1, 1884. 
Beother Mat : 

As Secretary of the Androscoggin Bar Asso- 
ciation I forward you herewith a copy of Resolutions, re- 
questing the pubhcation of your poems. 

These Resohitious were offered by Hon. George C. Wing, 
and were adopted by unanimous vote of the Association at 
a meeting held at the Court-House, Jan. 16, 1884. 

I feel that I express the wish of the Association when 
I request your early action in accordance with the same. 
Sincerely Tours, 

H. W. OAKES, 

SecreUmf. 
JOHX W. Mat, Esq., Auburn, Me. 

RESOLUTIONS. 

Whereas, Brother John W. May has at different times in the 
past composed a large number of poems on different topics, par- 
ticularly the Androscoggin Bar, its members and practice, some of 
which have been published, and all of which have given pleasure 
to the Bar and afforded satisfaction to its members, therefore 

Resolved, That it is the wish of the Bar that Bro. May be 
requested to collect his several poetical etTusions and cause the 
same to be published in book form, to the end that tliey may be 
preserved and secured to the Bar and to his many friends, who 
highly appreciate not only his worth as a man, his ability and 
integrity as a counselor at law, but his rare and happy gift as a 
poet. 

A true copy. 

Attest: 

H. W. OAKES, 

Secretari/. 



To the Androscoggin Bar Association, by whose com- 
phmentary vote these waifs have been referred to with a 
request for collection and preservation, and for the amuse- 
ment and entertainment of whose members most of them 
were originally written,— the same having been the work 
of leisure hours, and suggested, to a large extent, by 
observations and incidents in Court, and by achievements 
and characteristics of individual members of the Associa- 
tion, and intended only for the day and the occasion, — 
this vohime is respectfully inscribed by one of their number, 
who is under obligations to them for many ftivors and 
courtesies, and whose aspirations in this department of 
belles-lettres, will be sufficiently gratified if he has con- 
tributed something in his way to their enjoyment. 

J. W. M. 
Lewiston, August, 1884. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Orave Doubts, 








1 


Androscoggin, ss., 








5 


The Price of the Pig, . . . . 








9 


''Owed" to Wing, .... 








14 


Pa?au for the City, .... 








17 


Lines to tlie Clipper, . . . . 








23 


The Dog that Bit McFinnihaddie, . 








26 


The Bull Case, 








28 


The Canine Fertilizer, 








31 


Obiter Dicta, 








33 


The Adipose Tissue 








37 


The State Liquor Commissioner Waited 


Upoi 






41 


The Short-Han' Feller, 








47 


Tru Fillossofy ov Korreck Spellin, . 








50 


Cook's Dividend, 








53 


The Imp of Fame, .... 








55 


Phil Sheridan, 








59 


Id Triumphe, 








63 


The Juleps, 








68 


The Poetical Man, .... 








. 71 


Epistle to H. Greeley, 








75 


Compliments of the Season, 








79 


Eliza Jane Protests, .... 








81 


To the Culler of Staves, . 








. 84 


The City Missionary, .... 








. 86 


My Grand Epic, 








. 88 


That Summer Hat, .... 








. 99 



VI 



John Daley, the Sthrame Over, 

How it Happened, 

Ode for the X. Y. Z., 

Gov. Dunn's New Hat, 

The Water Campaign in Auburn, 

To Jenkins, the Janitor, 

Judge Walton's Thermometer, . 

Gen. Butler Appears for the Lasten 

The Auburn Ghost, 

Finale, 



103 
107 
111 

116 
119 
122 
124 
126 
128 
131 



OCCASIONAL POEMS. 



The Burden of the Rhyme, 








. 137 


West Pitch, .... 








. 141 


Memorial Day, 








. 143 


David Barker, 








. 145 


In Memoriam, 








. 147 


The Wood Nymph, 








. 149 


Summer and Sunset, . 








. 153 


Poesy, 








. 156 


The Pearl of Maranocook, . 








. 161 


My Volume of Burns, 








. 167 


Tester-night, 








. 172 


Centennial Poem, 








. 181 



PREFACE. 

It is perhaps quite unuecessary to make auy remarlcs. 
explanations, or apologies to accompany the publication of 
such "effusions" as these. They were written at different 
times, more for amusement and the entertainment of the 
writer's associates at the Bar, than with any view to their 
collection and publication. In responding to the flattering 
request of our Association, the purpose has been, so far as 
practicable, to prepare a book which, it is hoped, may 
commend itself to the legal profession in Maine, and at 
the same time present some attractions to the public at 
large. T am aware that its interest is to a considerable 
extent local, and also, that it contains many personalities : 
the latter however, I believe it is well understood, were 
all conceived in good nature and have been used with the 
kindest intentions. If the volume serves as an occasional 
cordial to the legal fraternity who have asked its publica- 
tion, its leading purpose will be accomplished. 

In reference to the illustrations, I would say, the idea 
was an after-thought. It was the opinion of some of my 
brethren of the Bar, that several of the poems were sus- 
ceptible of illustration, and that additional interest would 
be given to the book if suitable illustrations could be 
obtained. I desire to acknowledge my obligations to the 
artist, .Mr. D. D. Coombs of Auburn, for the satisfactory 
manner in wliich he has executed his part of the work. 

J. \V. M. 
Lewiston, Me., August, 1884. 



INSIDE THE BAR. 



GRAVE DOUBTS. 



There's a measly distemper which sometimes afflicts 
Gentlemen of the bar and advice interdicts : 
It defieth the doctors, all physic it scouts ; 
To-da}' it is on me, — a touch of grave doubts. 

Have you never had 'em, O brothers, declare, — 
When you've wrestled and tugged till about to despair, 
With some tough old conundrum too stubborn to yield 
To the logic incisive which you and I wield? 

Have you never heard the low, guttural sound 
That proceeds from the depths when one struggles pro- 
found 
With great arguments j)ro and great arguments con, 
Till he gropes in the cobwebs perplexed and undone ? 

Shall I give it up, wlien the burgher of fame. 
The great Wouter Van Twillor, so noted liecame 
For his marvelous skill at revolving in mind, 
And never deciding the issue defined? 

Nil, nil desperandum ! Aui gloria, aut nil! 
If I keep from you, brothers, these treasures until 
Some spirit doth prompt me to launch 'em abroad, 
You'll lose all the salad, and I the reward. 
1 



GRAVE DOUBTS. 

Come out from your pigeon-holes, dainties, come here ! 
All soiled with the dust and unfit to appear : — 
Let me brush off the mould and the dingy mildew ; 
Let me do up the budget, fresh, shiny, and new. 

Ah ! when I am up on the high rounds of fame, 
I'll decide upon something, though doubting the same ; 
Meantime let me ponder and smoke if I crave. 
And keep up tlie battle with doubts that are grave. 

If perchance the low guttural sound you should hear, 
Then be sure, in the depths, there's a tussle severe ; 
That some problem of doubt on the hip has got hold 
And hangs fire as it did with the burgher of old. 



->^>i^^3^ 





SETH SAMPSON, ESQ. 



ANDROSCOGGIN, SS. : 

OR THE MYSTERIES AND EMOLUMENTS OF THE LAW EXPLAINED. 



Androscoggin, ss. ! a significant phrase, 
Interpreted here in divers queer ways : 
Not a writ, a return, or a record is made, 
But Androscoggin, ss. is out on parade. 
Now the huvyers, and sheriffs, and clerk of the courts 
All know the deep meaning this law phrase imports ; 
But the vulgar plebeians, they never could guess 
The full force of the words, Androscoggin, ss. 

Androscoggin, indeed, is the bailiwick's name ; 

SS. is the sticker, what meaneth the same? 

Videlicet, say some,— soft soder, soft soap ;— 

Such sneer at the law as some sneer at the Pope, 

Deriding its weightier matters instead of 

The mint and the anise and cumin we've read of. 

Others wiser, assert with more serious intent, 

Seth Sampson, Esquire, is the man who is meant; — 

Seth Sampson who sits 'tween the l)ench and the bar. 

And hearkens to catch every lisp of the law. 

And feeds on such fodder, though he never grows fat, 

But leaner and lanker, more sharp and all that, — 

Till he looks like some genius judicial let loose 

From a case of old law books grown dingy with use, 

All pickled and dried in the essence of law, 

And as full of sharp points as the brief that you draw 

With his long gray hair and his antique clothes, 

And his ponderous specs a-straddle his nose, 



ANDROSCOGGIN, SS. 

And his calf-skin vest so odd you would laugh 

At the ancient volume thus bound in calf, — 

Seth Sampson, they say, is the phantom ss. ; 

Look out for his clutches, you rogues who transgress. 

In the trial of cases called civil, 'tis true, 

Androscoggin^ ss. but proclaims the " venue " ; 

While in criminal causes, by legal intent. 

Both " venue " and the '•'• populi salus" are meant. 

The majesty stern of the county at large 

Stands up and speaks out in the criminal charge ; 

Making burglars, and thieves, and assassins and rakes 

Pay the penalties due for their mischief's mistakes. 

Androscoggin, ss. is a summons of fear 

When it reaches the precincts of pea-nuts and beer. 

Disturbing the hucksters and leaving withal 

A margin for profits exceedingly small. 

Eliza McM. was most grievously poor ; 
Androscoggin, ss. had been 'round to her door 
In the person of two or tliree bright button chaps. 
Whose call was unwelcome and boded mishaps. 
High words had been heard in Eliza's abode ; 
Some guests had gone forth with too much of a load. 
And the scent of " i^. 6r.," as the button chaps swore. 
Told a tale of the " slewed" at Eliza's own door. 
Now these button chaps bolted right into her house. 
And Eliza showed fight which raised a great touse ; — 
They looked in the cupboards and smelled of the cans ; 
She whacked a big bottle right out of their ban's 
With a blow of the poker, and smash on the floor, 
Went the " little cold water " she'd kept in her store. 
They smelled of the bottles and tumblers and jugs, 
They smelled of the tea-cups and saucers and mugs, 



ANDROSCOGGIN, SS. 7 

Aud the}' searched for a smell amid storms of abuse, 
But never smelled " 7cater" at all in the house. 

jhidroscoggin, ss. called Eliza in court 

On a charge which both keeping and sale did import, 

And Eliza arraigned faltered faint in distress, — 

" Not guilty yer honor, it's a lie of ss." 

"•Are you ready for trial, have you counsel engaged?" 

Said the judge to Eliza, her grief unassuaged : 

" No coxinsel your honor;- I am too j)oor, sir, to pay 

Any laivyer to helpj me." Here fainted away 

The poor, trembling Eliza, till, touched bv her grief, 

The judge assigned counsel, which brought some relief. 

But the jury, despite all the counsel could do. 

Said : " Guilty of keeping and selling it too." 

And the judge imposed sentence of hundreds and cost, 

Or jail for long months in which profits are lost, — 

A terrible doom for poor 'Liza McM., 

Convicted, condemned, in X)ersona, in rem. 

But she had a big pocket down deep in her dress ; 
She went down to its bottom in this her distress 
And she brought up a wad of the greenbacks and paid 
Every cent of the fine and the costs, and she said : 
"Ye talked well for me, lawyer; it grieves me to say 
I'm too jwor for your excellent talking to x>ay ; 
I've but fifty cents left — take that, sir, and ivhen 
The button chaps p)la.gue vie, — I'll icant ye again." 
Here she sobl)ed with a sob of more startling distress, 
Aud she cursed the old cove, Androscoggin, ss. 

In brief (for in fact, I'm but writing a brief,) 
Androscoggin, ss. is an arrant old thief : 
He plundered Eliza, a destitute womau, 
And treated her, too, in a wav most inhuman ; 



ANDROSCOGGIN, SS. 

He took all her profits aud never said grace ; 

He left for the lawyer who pleaded her case 

But a fifty-cent scrip, which was meaner than dirt. 

Now I join with Eliza and boldly assert, 

(And I rise with authorities strong to sustain 

The point that I make and now mean to maintain,) 

That of all the old hogs that root 'round in the street, 

Androscoggin, ss. is the meanest you meet ; 

For he grabs for the whole wuth a merciless grip. 

Leaving scarce for the lawyer a fifty-cent scrip. 

Here I close in the faith I have made out a case ; 

Shall I hear a " no7i constat " now flung in ni}' face? 

The jury may judge and a verdict express. 

I have argued m}' cause, Androscoggin, ss.. 

State of Maine, if you please, versus 'Liza McM. : 

Androscoggin, ss. made the grab, sir, in rem. 



THE PRICE OF THE PIG. 

[LEWISTOX MUXICIl'AL COURT, ISTi. KXOWLTOX, J., PRESIDING.] 



There was a man whose name was H., 

Lived o'er in Auburn town ; 
He had two pigs, and each was worth 

A •' V " or more, cash down. 

Another man whose name was V., 

Of that same Auburn town, 
For winter's pork a pig would bu}'. 

Fat, kill, and then salt down. 

The first he was a farmer man, 

A butcher, too, by trade ; 
The other was a mason man 

And bricks in mortar laid. 

"Now, hang it," saith the mason man, 

" I'll have a pig 'twill thrive ; 
Snug-boned, with moderate lireadth of beam, 

And weight, say, seventy-tive. 

"I'll have a l)eauty of a pig. 

As sure's my name is V." 
"Ha, ha," he laughed for very joy. 

So fond of pigs was he. 



10 THE PRICE OF THE PIG. 

He saw those pigs scarce four mouths old, 

Of farmer H., the pride, 
And one he liked, — he took a week 

To ponder and decide. 

One morning at his mason work, 
Some fearful pork might rise. 

He saw the farmer riding by. 
And hailed him in this wise : 

" Say, do you know where I can buy 
A good spring pig, 'twill weigh 

Some seventy-five or hundred pounds? 
I want to buy to-day." 

" Don't b'lieve I do," quoth farmer H., 
" But there's those pigs of mine ; 

Six dollars, you can have your choice, 
A bargain 'tis in swine." 

"Too small, too small," quoth mason V., 

" Now I don't want to buy 
A pig that's under seveuty-five, 

Like those in your pig-sty." 

" Hout, tout ! " quoth farmer H., "I judge 

The row-back pig will weigh 
Full sixty pounds." " Nonsense ! " said V.,- 

'^ Small pork such price to pay." 

" Give me six dollars for that pig," 

Rejoined the farmer, then, 
' ' And I will straightway bring him o'er 

And leave him in your pen." 



THE PKICE OF THE PIG. 11 

"You call hiin sixty ?— well," said V., 

" Deliver him, 'tis a trade ; " 
V. chuckled iu his sleeve to thiuk 

What l)argaiu he had made. 

Home from his mason work at uiglit 

He went with spirits high, 
And in his own peculiar pen 

The row-back met his eye. 
• 
" Faith, lie don't weigh no seventy-five, 

Nor sixty pounds, I vum ! 
Wife, bring the steelyards,— well, I know 

That we've been cheated some." 

Over into that pen he leaped, 

Full lively on his taps ; 
He caught that little, gentle pig. 

And slung him up in straps. 

And hung him on the steelyard hook. 

And poised him iu the air — 
Squealing and kicking all his might, 

So fearful was the scare. 

The steelyard arm he then brought down, 

And balanced with the weight : 
When, lo ! the startling fact appeared, 

The pig weighed forty-eight. 

" I sw\an," said V., " that's mean enough ; 

I vow I'll never pay ; 
The man may go to H-alifax, 
Who'll use me in that way." 



12 THE PRICE OF THE PIG. 

" Four dollavs is the most I'll pay ;— 
Wife 5'ou remember that ; 

We'll keep the pig aud feed him well, 
And kill him when he's fat." 

A month or more elapsed before 

H. called for dollars six ; 
V. swore he'd never pay but four, 
As long as he laid bricks. 

* 

Now, here sprung up a direful feud, 
About the pig and pay ; 

Aud soon in court as litigants, 
Each party had his day. 

And lawyers haggled in the case, 

And argued pro and con ; 
The hash was settled by the judge, 
The plaintiff 'twas who won. 

Alas, for V.'s scant winters pork. 
Full dear at dollars six ; 

It cost him over twenty-five. 
Hard earned at laying bricks. 

And beans with pork he only had. 
Not twice but once a week, — 

A hardship of the direst kind, 
Of which I grieve to speak. 

And here this doleful ballad ends, 
Tho' half remains untold ; 

The lawsuit was a tougher bill 
Than twenty pigs thus sold. 



THE PRICE OF THE PIG. 13 

The confidence of mason V. 

In furmor H. is gone ; 
But not his confidence in pork, 

Be hiwsnits h)st or won. 

Oftinies in dreams at night he sees, 

Hung dangling in the air, 
A kicking pig, whose dismal cries. 
Say : " Mason man, beware ! " 

Beware of lawsuits on a pig. 

They bring the pork too high ; 
Lay bricks and always pay the bill, 

When e'er a pig you buy. 

Avoid a suit and save the cost. 

For it will buy much pork ; 
Beans, you can have them twice a week, — 

Backbone for mason work. 

Now let this tale a lesson be, 

To every willful man ; 
Buy corn instead of law for pigs 

'Tis far the wiser plan. 

'Twill yield more pork, less trouble, too ; 

And those infernal dreams 
Of dangling, kicking, squealing pigs 

Will cause no niglitmare screams. 

Then pleasantly his days will pass. 

His barrel aye be fidl : 
The juicy beau-pot add its cheer, 

And ne'er his heart sing dool. 



14 




THE STORY TELLER. 



"OWED" TO WING. 

[S. J. Court, Sept. T., 1872. Walton, J., Presiding.] 



Ob, Wing, you are a ^'' phunny pliellow^'" 
Your stories fairly make me bellow : 
You told some rippers ' tother uigiit 
At the DeWitt, — I laughed outright ; 
So loud indeed m}^ laughter rung, 
Two buttons from my waistbands sprung. 



"owed" to wing. 15 

Say, Wiug, you genius, how did you 

This knack acquire? Pray tell us, do? 

Was it iu story-telling school 

You learned the art by rote and rule, 

Or was it born within 3'our brain ? 

Come, AYing, m}' chap, this thing explain. 

B3'rou and Shelley, Burns and Hood 
The art of verse all understood, 
And Dr. Samuel Johnson, he 
Sang big frog's chant to little frog-ee. 
But when the story part comes iu, 
With you, O AVing, they can't begin. 

How Frye and Ludden, Record, AVright, 
Did shake their sides with huge delight. 
And Cotton, too, did roar and surge 
As loud as in a jury splui'ge ; 
And e'en that upright man, Judge Luce, 
Marveled like child at Mother Goose ! 

' Twas late that night when I got home, 

The " tuee sma' hours" indeed had come: 

I laid me down and tried to sleep. 

But, whew ! 3'our stories tough did keep 

High carnival, —I was not drunk, 

Tliough thrice I heard 3'ou say: '■'"Ker-dunk." 

I tell you. Wing, you ought to shine ! 

Just treasure up your stories fine 

And put 'em in a book all told : 

Hot cakes for lawyers, young and old. 

Nuts, raisins, sweetmeats, charlotte-russe, 

Cream cake or jelly, as 3'ou choose. 



16 "owed" to wing. 

I'll buy one of the books aud so 
Will Frye and Ludden, Record too, 
And Cornish, Pulsifer and Frost, 
And all the rest. Don't mind the cost. 
Let Stanwood bind 'em with a clasp. 
And keep 'em from the vulgar grasp. 

And, Wing, one word before I close, — 
Whene'er you ventilate your views 
Before the jury or the judge, 
If argument should fail, don't budge : 
Your fiddle has another string, 
You'll take 'em with a story. Wing. 



17 



A P^EAN FOR THE CITY. 

[January 1, iSTi. ] 



The city expands. Do you see how it grows, 
And what mighty proportions its suburbs disclose? 
The city, I say, — and I speak it with pride, — 
Though I'm o'er the bridge, just a little outside. 
The cit3''s a wonder ! Go out if you will, 
Bej^ond brick-kilns and shanties, the city's there still ; 
I defy you to tell, passing out, sir, or in, 
Where the city doth stop, and the country begin. 

For a child of ten years, the city's a thing 
Decidedly big — et ergo, I sing : 

Now, Muse, flap your wings like a brisk chanticleer 
And crow for the city a lusty neiv year. 

There were cities of old demolished by fire, 

Gomorrah and Sodom. — there were Sidon and Tyre, 

Both places of note, wliich grew very fast. 

But their glory burned out like a candle at last; 

There was great Babylon, sir. a very fast town. 

With its gardens hung high, but they liad to come down. 

Now what is the moral? The moral is i)lain : 

City folks of their city ought not to be vain ; 

And I mention these things just to show that I am 



18 A P.BAN FOR THE CITY. 

Aware of the fact that town pride is a sham. 

Brick and mortar do much for a town, it is true; 

So do fat corporations, and water-power, too : 

Banks, colleges, saw-mills and school-marms and stores. 

And high-steepled churches no townsman ignores. 

Smart men and fair ladies, bright boys, sir, and girls, 

With their lustrous, dark eyes and luxuriant curls. 

And cheeks like a plum, which one hankers to taste. 

(Keep steady, O Muse, and your balance well braced,) 

Are things which, b}' jingo, I never can see 

Without dipping my pen for a slight jeu d'esprit. 

So I crack for this city, which excels in all these : 

You may find as much fault with my rhyme as you please, 

And say, better hush up lest mischief betide 

The chap o'er the bridge, just a little outside. 



Look at Lisbon Street now, magnificent mart 

Of fabrics and notions and rare things of art ! 

Where a suit, or a picture, or paper of corn 

You can buy with your mone}", sir, sure as your born ; 

Where the dry goods and fancy make show till one stares 

As he would if he strolled through the Turkish bazars ; 

Where the fashions are out, where the horses are fast, 

And the liver}' of town dashes fearfully past ; 

Where the barbers' poles shine, and they shave you so 

snug,— 
Those knights of the razors, the brush and the mug, — 
And the}' shave you so neat, and they smile when they're 

paid, 
As blandly as shavers who shave on a trade. 
Look at Lisbon Street, sir! Pray, where is its match? 
It begins at a church and it ends in '■'■the palch,^' 
The patch where p-ratees and babies are raised 
In bountiful crops, — let the good Lord be praised ! 



A P.EAN FOR THE CITY. 19 

Hall, Linkin Street, hail ! Thou region wiiere dwells 

A vast combination of undefined smells, 

Which riot abroad on a hot summer's day, 

And the cold breath of winter scarce keeps them at bay. 

Walk down, if you please, through that long thoroughfare, 

And see what a mixture doth congregate there : 

Hear the parlez vous chat, and the broguers declaim, — 

Sure, Linkin Street's something, sir, more than a name ! 

There's business done there, as every one iiuows, 

Aside from the drunks and the J0II3' old rows ; 

There are shops where the windows show candy and cake, 

And holes in the ground where there's '■' suthin' to take" ; 

For Eliza keeps there, the poor, destitute woman, 

Whom the button chaps plagued and treated inhuman. 

With its rabbles and rows, and confusion of tongues, 

'To Linkin Street, sir, there's a history belongs ; 

And Patrick and Bridget, Jean Baptiste and all 

Make it thrive like an ant-hill in sunshine and squall. 

From the gas works below, to the store of Yj. Keen, 

Pigs, puppies, and urchins enliven the scene : 

And the hul)bub that's raised by young Erin-go-hragh, 

Resounds through the length of the grand Boulevard. 

There's another place, too, once headquarters, and still 
A place of some note, called ^' under the hiW" ; 
Which rejoices in Keen and the noted Sam Hicks, 
Who's at home, sir, and up to liis famous old tricks. 
Buy your beef, sir, of Keen, and your stews, sir, of Sam ; 
You'll be sure to grow fat and l)e hajipy's a clam. 
<jtet a lounge in at Conant's and stretcli yourself out. 
And laugh at old sinneis who growl with the gout : 
Buy a ritle at Nason's and shoot at a mark. 
Buy a cook stove of Goss and in cooking embark, — 
Pay your bills when 3'ou buy, if you don't you'll get 
hit,— 



20 A P.EAN FOR THE CITY. 

There's a lawyer down there who sometimes makes a writ, 
And follows delinquents up with a sharp stick, 
"With a very sharp point, — and I've known it to prick. 
The lawyer keeps sober, — he's never a brick. 

Whew ! I'm quite out of breath. Guess here I'll alight, 

And take Pegasus in and give him a bite. 

But I'll breathe, ere I stop, a godspeed for the town. 

And the blast of trumpet, I think, should be blown. 

Go on, O smart cit}' ! Your banners fling out ! 

Revolve all your spindles and spindle it out ! 

If we only survive and don't burst with this strain, 

Next year, by the Moses ! we'll pa>an again 

And give a big lift for the cit}', — Who knows? — 

Hush, now ! It is time that this pa?an should close. 




THE HIGH HANI) OF THE LAW. 



23 



LINES TO THE CLIPPER. 

ON THE EVENING OF ARREST, NOV. S, 1873. 



[The Auburn Clipper, piiblislied a few years ago in Auburn, was styled by 
some of its coiitemporaries, " The Free Lancein Journalism." It was conducted 
witli spirit and ability and scored many good points in its locals; but its per- 
sonalities were carried to sucli an extreme that it soon got into trouble. The 
language and epithets it used in reference to the Judge of the Lewiston Munici- 
pal Court were so outrageous that the editors were summoned to answer for 
contempt and punished by fine and imprisoinnent.J 

Audacious, spicy little Clipper, 
Insulting, mischievous, yet chipper ! 
I fear 3'e took a double nipper 

Last MondaA' morn. 
Such as Eliza's old quart dipper 

Was wont to turn. 

What makes 3'e pitch into 'em so, 

An' then your horn defiant blow? 

Ye should be spanked and taught to know 

Some better manners : 
Ye've no respec' for high or low, 

Not e'en for Tanners. 

Folks' backs is uj). I hear the3''ve got 
A warrant out all hissing hot. 
An' ta'en ye o'er at lively trot 

To see the Judge, 
Who for yer sass as like as not 

Owes ye a grudge. 

I hear his Honor bound 3'e o'er 
To answer, — bonds a half a score 
O' thousand dollars, — so no more 

Yer pizen slang 
Ye' 11 sling contemptuous at his door, — 

T guess ve'll h:tni2; ; 



24 LINES TO THE CLIPPER. 

Or else go o'er awhile to tarry 
Wi' Tom, the " Cit}' Missionary"; 
He takes such pupils temporary, 

An' on long time, 
But 'lows no swearin', drinkin' sherry, 

Nor slingin' slime. 

Yer sins they say are grievous many : 

Ye never gather up a penny 

But wi' a dose o' salts and senna. 

Ye go for some on', 
Who ne'er perchance has harmed ye any, 

Au' dare him come on. 

Last summer when the chivalry 
Marched down by moonlight to the sea. 
Ye turned yer guns on Cap'n P., 

Quite unrefined, 
An' limbered his artillery 

" Jn the rear behind.'" 

Last month ye had a jag for Cheney ; 

1 must confess I thought ye spleeny 

To talk so nide. What did ye mean, ha? 

Those Baptist fellers, 
The^^'U serve ye with a fresh subpcx'ua, 

You and yer sellers. 

An' now on Gov'nors, Congressmen, 
The best folks of the upper ten. 
An' e'en the Journal's busy pen. 

What writes reports, 
Ye empty slops from your vile den. 

All kinds and sorts. 



LINES TO THE CLIPPER. 25 

' Twas you, not Keiiway, drew the plan 
About the affair up Svvitzerlan', 
An' passed it to the Journal man 

To copy gratis : 
But he, chaste man, the Clipper's plan 

Disdained to notice. 

I 'spect he thought that " interest weirdo 
To which his columns had appeared 
To pander, had played out, — I feared 

The gypsy camp 
Part of the story was loo weirdy 

E'er to revamp. 

Now, Clipper^ as it's gettin' late, 
I will no more expostulate ; 
I doubt if any lawyer's pate 

Can here unravel 
What is to be your legal fate, 

What road 3'ou'll travel ; 

I hopes they will not snuff ye out, 
Or put yer wits to total rout : 
Abate some o' 3'er rank sour-krout 

An' then ye'U go it, 
An' patrons have enougli, no doubt, 

Perhaps a poet. 

Put in the ginger and the spice, — 
(I charge ye naught for this advice,) 
Ye well are worth yer sellin' price. 

Ye little ripper, 
Yc'll lick 'em all — heed m}' advice, — 

Two cents a Clipper! 



26 



THE DOG THAT BIT McFINNIHADDIE. 



Who would not swear, uor take it back, 
Tho' at him howled the wolfish pack? 
The miscreant cur that bites a Mac 
Shall die by swift shillalah whack, 

Or pistol shot, McFiunihaddie. 

No matter whether, big or small. 
He strays from Breen's or Brophy's stall, 
Him let policemen prompt o'erhaul : 
He'd better be no dog at all 

Than bite the boy, McFinnihaddie. 

Of all the scabby curs that prowl 
On Lincoln Street, an' hungry howl 
An' snap at urchins, pigs, an' fowl, — 
Not one shall live, upon my soul. 

To bite the blood, McFinnihaddie. 

The murthering scamp, they killed him dead ; 
The gamins shouted when he bled. 
He bit young Mac: an' now 'tis said 
The jury have a poultice spread 

To heal the wound, McFinnihaddie. 

A dollar for each pound he weighed 
Was doubled ; an' when this is paid, 
Then reparation will be made. 
An' all the pain will be allayed, 

That stirred the blood, McFinnihaddie. 



THE DOG THAT BIT McFINNIHADDIE. 27 

M}' ftiith ! ]\Iay be the price is cheap ! 
(Thougli Bieon I fear will count it steep,) 
I think if well-bred dogs, that sleep 
On downy rugs, a court should keep, 

An' try the case, MeFinnihaddie ; 

The verdict they would render back 
Would be : No dog, or white or black, 
That bites a boy an' then makes track, 
An' 'scapes tlie marshal's pistol crack. 

Shall dwell with men, MeFinnihaddie: 

But homeless he shall prowl abroad, 
A miscreant of the outlawed horde. 
An' his dead head shall bring reward : 
An' men shall dock his caudal cord 

Close to his ears, MeFinnihaddie. 

Alas for Breeu I With him all's up. — 
Attached in law and dead his pup. 
When he at night sits down to sup 
There's naught but trouble in his cup; 

He's woful down, MeFinnihaddie. 

For costs an' damage, items long. 
Full high, full dear, full steep an' strong, 
He's got to foot, — an' for his wrong 
Nobody cares a beggar's song. 

Who's bit the woi'se, ]McFiiinihaildie? 



28 




THE ORIGINAL CHARGE. 

THE BULL CASE. 

[Cotton for Plf. Record for Deft.] 



'' Oh, J. B. Cottou ! Say what you should do 
If you were a woman, hystericky, too, 
And a rampant bull made a dive at you ? 

"Should you holler an' scream with vigor intense; 
Should you take to your heels, or take to the fence 
And over it go an' battle him thence? 

" Suppose the critter all unconfined 
Should lev£l his horn at you behind, — 
You, a woman to fidgets inclined? 



THE BULL CASE. 29 

" Suppose he should bellow an' lash his tail, 
An' charge on the fence till the topmost rail 
Fell over on you, low squat an' pale ; 

" Screaming an' crying for lielp in vain, 
Tortured with fear an' tortured with pain. 
What should you do, I ask again? 

" You know that a woman so sensitive born, 
Can't cope with a monster having a horn 
An' tlireateuing to gore her all forlorn. 

" You know 'tis unsafe, outrageous an' wrong 
To let such a Bashan, so savage an' strong. 
Break loose an' bellow the streets along. 

"You know, when his firey eyeballs glare 
And his tail goes up, he's a terrible scare 
To a sensitive woman so apt to despair. 

"Now these are the facts explicit, precise; 
I ask for the law an' care not for the price. 
Pray give me the best o' your legal advice." 

" Good madam, I think 'twas malice prepense 
In the bull, a case of damage immense, 
To Avhich there can be no valid defense. 

"The owner or keeper is clearly at fault; 
See Blackstone or Chitty, title. Assault. 
The case is as clear as a kick from a colt." 

But alas for opinions an' legal advice ! 
Good cases, when tried an' argued so nice. 
Are oftentimes lost bv subtle device. 



30 THE BULL CASE. 

The jvny, on weighing the. evidence full, 
Coucludecl somehow, by a pull o' the wool, 
The woman it was that inveigled the bull. 

MORAL. 

So J. B. Cotton, m}- friend, I fail 

To discover the reason you didn't prevail, 

Unless 'twas taking the bull b}' the tail. 

Next time you tackle the Unicorn, 

Though he bellow an' blaze like a demon hell-born, 

Don't grab for his tail, — take hold of his horn. 



31 



' THE CANINE FERTILIZER. 



[A new agricultural contrivance once on exhibition at J. G. Cook's drug 
store in Lewiston. The machine is charged with a cartridge and set in opera- 
tion by tlie aijplication of a lighted match. The modus operandi may be gathered 
from these lines :] 

I laughed all clay, an' wheit abed 
I still kept laughiu', an' I said: 
That little dog there made o' lead, 

Curled o'er his haunches, 
Drops his fertility uuspread, 

Small avalanches. 

Just now I tliought, — Faith, he is done ; 

Now he will gather up an' run. 

An' wag his tail an' ha' some fun, — 

But, Moses' mother ! 
Ere 1 could wink, he straight l)egun 

To do another. 

An' such a string ! Lord, keep my tongue 
From tellin' lies an' savin' wrong ! 
I would na' dare to say how long, 

I did na' measure, 
But guess 'twould reach if it were strong, 

Up to the azure. 

An' tlien he heaped so fast his pile, 
In such a funny, off-han' style. 
It seem'd that inside out the while 

The scamp was turnin'. 
An' which was dog, an' which was pile, 

'Twas hard discernin'. 



32 THE CANINE FERTILIZER, 

Oh, Shucks ! He's hoaxin' us, said I : 
F'or uo lank pup beneath the sk)', 
Since days o' miracles went by. 

No bigger 'u that one, 
Could string it thus. 'Twould fetch a sigh 

From any fat one. 

A regular Ah Sin he is. — 

I'd like to know what makes his phiz 

So pensive, — doin' such a biz : 

What feeds the hopper 
To that small grinding mill o' his. 

An' where's the stopper? 

Oh, I have seen beside the street 

Vile curs the effort oft repeat 

An' uothin' do but scrape their feet, 

An' sometimes bark it, — 
I've wished the doctor'd come an' treat 

'Em with cathartic. 

An' I've seen bo^'s lock fingers, too, 
An' pull for dogs, to help 'em thro' 
In such dilemma, when I knew 

Those heartless boys 
Made mockery 'o the dog's ado, 

Wi' shout an' noise. 

But this 'ere small on' asks no help. 
An' never yet since he was whelp 
Did make a fuss an' whine an' skelp 

Behind the barn. 
But braces up without a yelp 

An', lo, his yarn ! 



33 



OBITER DICTA. 

[DEC. 7, 187-2.] 



lu these short clays, when calls are few 
And lawyers have not much to do, 
While briefs arc finished and the Court 
In chambers tries your case of tort, — 
AVhose business if one pokes aside 
The sheep-skin volumes, worn and dried, 
And from his table sweeps the dirt. 
And takes in rhyme a little flirt? 

The outside world moves ou : and why, 
When other nags are stirring spry. 
Why should not Pegasus come out 
And whisk his long, white tail about? 
Let not the jockeys scoff at him ; — 
He goes it sometimes with a vim. 
Nor loses tail, nor hair, nor hide, 
'Tho' on a Tam O'Shanter's ride. 

Behold how gorgeous are the stjdes ! 
Triumphant millinerj' smiles 
And flaunts the streets full-plumed to-day. 
Whose wife is that, so dashing gay. 
That's shopping fearless thro' the town, 
Nor cares a fig for husband's frown? 
AV^hat fur-trimm'd, feathery maidens those 
Like snow-birds on the wintr}- snows? 

3 



34 OBITER DICTA. 

O my ! the nobby seal-skiu hats ! 
What perfect little Ararats, 
That tower above the flood o' trash 
Which cheap folks buy to make a clash ! 
Ho, sable, mink, and fitch, get out ! 
You only make tlie fair ones pout. 
When royal seal skin rules so high; — 
Ask Getchell if 3'ou think I lie. 

The city's Temple is complete, 

A monument that's hard to beat ; 

And dedicated all so grand, — 

O townsman, let your pride expand ! 

'•'■ Exegi monumentum ce- 

Re jjerennius ! " Did you see 

The elephant inside the ring 

Dancing last night the Highland fling? 

Go down, 3'ou sorehead, double quick. 
And see your pile o' hard-burnt brick ; 
Look 'round awhile, look up the sky, — 
Is it a planet meets your eye. 
Or streaming meteor all ablaze? 
Put on your spec's and steadfast gaze : 
You mutton head ! Why, don't you know 
That is the steeple glistens so? 

Shake hands with a policeman now ; 
Tell him you come to see the show ; 
Tell him you'd like to just walk in 
And thro' the Temple, then out ag'in. 
Give him a rag or two o' scrip : 
He'll take you then aboard the ship 
And thro' the halls and all about, — 
The sights will make your eyes stick out. 



OBITER DICTA. 36 

Compave this proud, imperial day 
AVith days not long since 2:)assed away, — 
Days remembered by Doctor G., 
When woods were here as well as he ; 
And hunters set their fox-traps where 
The Doctor rocks in his easy chair. 
'■'• Historical fact !" The Doctor said; 
" Tho' most luho know it now are dead." 

'•'•Oh, Doctor O. ! If, as you tell^ 
The trails were set there where you dwell," 
Said Col. B., '•'• I pray you avoiv, 
What hinders settin'' the traps there notv? 
Was't ever a fox the hunters caught?" 
To which the Doctor rejoined in short : 
" / spoke of traps, and not of game ; 
Impertinent Col., forshame, forshame!" 

Scud home now, Pegasus, prancing fleet, 
"With white tail whisking thro' the street, 
Scud 'round the corner, down the hill, 
Into your dungeon, — whoa, be still ! 
Lie down beside the sheep-skin lore, 
You mischievous scamp, I'll ride no more. 
A rescript comes just here from Court, 
'Tis gone to the dogs, that case of tort. 




THE PURE ADIPOSE. 



37 



THE ADIPOSE TISSUE; 

AS EXEMPLIFIED IN THE ANDROSCOGGIN BAR. 

[October, 1877.J 
[Read at a Bar Supper at DeWitt House, Feb. 7, 1882.] 



I've thought of a subject that's meat for rh3-nie : 

'Tis the adipose tissue, the flabby sublime ; 

With the good capou lined deep within and without, 

Like a big bowl o' jelly it dances about. 

An' shakes its broadsides of superfluous blubber 

With laughter an' jest, as elastic as rubber. 

The quintessence of fatness ! Good nature compressed, 

Bundled up in a lump, like an alderman dressed 

In a suit o' fine clothes. — No skinny baboon 

But a man rounded out and full orbed like the moon, 

A smile from whose luminous countenance comes 

Like the smile from the heart of a pudding with plums. 

"Say, who do you mean, you feller of rhymes?" 

Quoth chaste Brother Luddeu, who swelleth sometimes ; 

"■ AVhy libel us fat folks for carr3'ing around 

A close corporation of bowels profound? 

A spare C'assius like j'ou plotting mischief an' war 

Will encounter, by an' by, the high hand o' the law." 

"Oh no. Brother Luddeu, T don't mean you. 

Your limbs are too shrunk, your bowa>ls too few ; 

Your cheeks are too shallow, your caput too small, 

An' your avoirdupois wouldn't answer at all, — 

I should sooner ha' thought o' one pumpkin called soine, 

Or snapping j'ou up once or twice on my tliuml)." 



88 THE ADIPOSE TISSUE. 

"Is it Record you mean, with his choker so white 

That a double D.D., sir, would fit him outright?" 

" Nay, I turu not on Calvin this greasy lamj)oou ; 

Too lean an' too slipper'd is his pantaloon ; 

His waistbands o'erlap an' too loose is his shoe, 

An' his skirts hang so wide that the wind whistles thro'." 

"You're thinking of Morrill, Judge Morrill, I ween. 

An' he, after all, is the man that you mean ; 

For he is rotund and o'ershadows the ground. 

An' he sees not the footsteps that trundle him 'round." 

"Why, Mandeville T., so to speak of the Judge! 

The thought is absurd, an' I answer you, fudge! 

"Guess again, Brother Ludden. I'll tell ye by an' by 
If ye don't guess him right." " 'Tis Congressman Frye," 
Quoth chaste Brother L. "He's the biggest by far 
Of all the big guns in the And'scoggin Bar." 
"What a goony ! Why look I Brother Frye, sir, is slim, 
An' the adipose tissue hangs lightly on him. 

" Give it up, d'ye say? Don't ye know there's Judge Wing, 

Who's fast waxing fat like the jolly old king 

O' the Cannibal Islnnds? He breakfasts an' sups 

On none o' John Chinaman's rat soup an' pups, 

But on cutlets an' sirloins, like great surrogates 

Who watch o'er the widows' and orphans' estates. 

"Don't ye know my friend Cotton, who tackled the bull 

In the High Court arena, an' gave him a pull 

By the tail? Haven't ye heard o' that wonderful feat. 

An' how rough and tumble they fought the great heat? 

How he had him in law so securely entailed. 

How by sheer force of muscle the Bashan prevailed? 



THE ADIPOSE TISSUE. 39 

" Now, that was a deed out o' which to make fame. 
And the glory thereof for friend Cotton I chvim : 
Do 3'ou ask what has fame with the tissue to do? 
Wh}', it swells a man up to the bigness of two. 
It distendeth his bowels, inflateth his cheek. 
Till he seems with the adipose tissue to reek. 

"'Squire Hutchinson's thin and shows signs of the ravage 

Of many hard fights. The implacable Savage 

Looks hungry and lean : They'll never grow fat. — 

You ma}^ hear their ribs rattle a rat-a-tat-tat : 

No adipose there, no symptoms of. gout. 

You were right, Brother Ludden, in leaving them out. 

" You were right. Bro. Ludden, in leaving out Moore, 
Always balmy with fun tho' approaching fourscore : 
But Pulsifer, Bolster, Judge Cornish and White, 
Judge Dresser and Dana, pray, why did you slight? 
If their claim to the adipose glory be small. 
Still the oil of good nature anointeth them all. 

"As for Coke on Littleton, Chitty on Bills, 
Mr. Ram on Facts, and Redfield on AVills, — 
They're jolly good reading to while away time, 
And stir up the fancy to feats quite sublime : 
The harder we study, the fatter we grow. — 
P>ut Avho is our Falstatf, pray, tell if you know? 

"There, pass me the end of the worsted of rh^'me ! 

You'll ne'er guess it right to the end of all time ; 

I shall have to unriddle this subject of meat 

And the adipose tissue whereof I now treat, 

And say to the crowd, while the climax I cap. 

That the man whom I meant all the time was Judge Knapp." 



40 THE ADIPOSE TISSUE. 

Having swung 'round the circle and compliment done 
To the lights of the bar, sir, omitting scarce one ; 
Having curveted high and rhymed it full free, — 
Is any good brother disgruntled with me? 
If he is, the best solace I know for his woes 
Is a poultice spread thick of the pure adipose. 

Oh, the adipose tissue I I sing its renown. 
Like a cushion of hair, or a pillow of down. 
Or a spring-bottom bed, it invites to repose ; 
And for surly dyspeptics, who caw like the crows, 
'Tis the great panacea, a big, bottled-up laugh, — 
Draw the cork and imbibe while this bumper I quaff ! 



41 



THE STATE LIQUOR COMMISSIONER 
WAITED UPON. 

[July 'in, 1879.] 

Thei'e is ii mau ou Lower ^lain 

AYhose daring deed 1 uovv relate ; 
A Greenback mau, commissioned b}^ 
Good Gov'nor (iarcelon — which is why 
He wholesales liquor for the State. 

He put a sigu u[) i)ainted black 

Upon a board, with letters white ; 

The letters were three inciies long. 

The board was nailed up high and strong 
Behind the store, yet plain in sight. 

It was no gaudy, gilded sign 

To lure the tipplers to his door ; 

"A simple back-door sign," said he, 

'• Will advertise enough for me 

My wholesale licjuor dealer's store." 

He did not put that sign in front, 

"Because," said he, -"twill catch the eye 
Of bold Reformers, who will crowd 
Around my store and clamor loud, — 
When I don't sell it on the sly." 

Vain man 1 To think that simple sign 

liehiud the store would not be known. 
Last Sunday 'twas the text whereon 
They preached and speechified, till one 
Said he would lead to take it down. 



42 STATE LIQUOR COMMISSIONER. 

" 'Twas put up to affront," he cried, 

"And to offend the public eye. 
An outrage 'tis, and shall the Club 
Submit, nor raise one loud hubbub? 
Wh3% such a Club had better die." 

But moderate counsels soon prevailed : 

They chose two champions brave to wait 
Upon this dealer and inform 
Him of the dire, impending storm 

That soon would burst and seal his fate, 

Unless he took that shocking sign 

Down from his store without delay ; 
The Club meant business, and would not 
Hear compromise nor yield one jot. 

Down ivith that sic/n, the leaders say. 

One champion was a dentist, who 

For thirty years and something more 
Had treated cases, many such. 
Which other dentists would not touch. 
And probed such ulcers to the core. 

The other was a lawyer, learned 

In all the law pertaining to 
The case in hand, and he did look 
The Maine Law thro', and then he took 

The Digest down and searched that, too. 

And then decided and advised 

That 'twas illegal for the sign 
To be nailed up. There was no clause 
That authorized it in the Laws, 
Nor in the Digest, not a line. 



STATE LIQUOR COMMISSIONER. 43 

So baud in hand those cliampions went 

Down to this wholesale dealer's store, 
And held their noses and walked in, — 
Walked thro' and never barked a shin 
Against the barrels on the floor. 

And in one corner, ver}^ sh% 

They took this dealer and made known 
Their mission, and they told him how 
The Club was incensed, and that now 

The sign he promptly must take down. 

>sVj frenzy tired this dealer's eye. 

He looked at them, and simply said : 
" Be seated, friends. All I can do 
To calm the Club and comfort you 

I'll do it, only save my head ! 

" My stock is choice. Name your desire. 

T offer freely what I have, 
So far as I can legally ; 
A creature of the law am I 

And nut a culprit and a knave. 

" But Uncle Samuel asked of me 

To take a license ere I sold 
My stock at wholesale ; and he said 
It was his custom and he made 

His dealers all, both young and old, 

"Keep up a sign to advertise 

Their business to the public eye. 
If any fail to have the sign, 
Five hundred dollars is the fine 

To pay, or else in jail they lie." 



44 STATE LIQUOR COMMISSIONER. 

" Ah," quoth the dentist, " 7s that so? 

C'est il jjossible, Oncle Sam?" 
And here the forceps which he plied 
He put away, but still he cried : 

' ' Tish mighty strange indeed, py tarn ! ' ' 

The lawyer next : " AVhat, are we fools? 

Invoke for such a thing the aid 
Of Uncle Sam ? As well invoke 
The Bible or my great Lord Coke. 

Show me your law," he sternly said. 

The dealer then took down the book, 
And read the statute, line on line. 

How Uncle Samuel would impose 

Fine and impilsonment on those 
Who dared to sell without a sign. 

The Scriptures also he did cite : 

^'- ''Woe unto . . . lazuyers,' -which means you 
Who wicked and perversely seek 
A sign — with so much brazen cheek. 

Armed with the law and forceps, too. 

" A generation evil and 

Adulterous once did seek a sign : 

To them no sign at all was given 

Save of the prophet Jonas, driven 
By stress of weather, not of wine, 

" Into the belly of the whale. 

Where he three days and nights was kept 
In durance vile, and tossed al)Out ; 
Then on the dr}^ land was spewed out, 

A sorry chap when home he crept." 



STATE LIQUOR COMMISSIONER. 45 

The champions here did mal\e amends, 

Apologized and kindly spoke. 
They urged no more the Chib's commands, 
But with the dealer both shook hands. 

And said 'twas just one funny joke ; 

A slight misapprehension only. 

(The fumes here reached the dentist's l)rain.) 
" Got bless my soni, these goods are fine! 
I icaives all scriqjles 'bout de sign; 

Oh, tchen shall we three meet again!" 



47 



THE SHORT-HAN' FELLER. 



D'3'e see bow he does it, tlie shoit-hnn' feller, 

AYbo sits over there in the corner? 
How he catches each word on his pot hook an' claps 

The story right down from those voluble chaps, 
The witnesses, who, stan'in' up on their taps. 
Let go the whole truth (spite the devil, perhaps,) 

Like the sage, Setb Sampson of Turner? 

D'ye see how he does it, takin' it down. 

King's English an' glib Irish lingo? 
Each joke an" each gesture, each laugh an' grimace 

In the turkey-track record find always a place : 
He"d Avrite the whole pack, sir, 'n the very small space 
Where you couldn't write e'en the two spot or ace, — 

A wonderful feat, b}' jingo I 

His ears are wide open, his eyes on the mark, 

He dives in his inkstand an' goes it ; 
No matter how fast they gabble. — what's said 

Goes down on the record, an' he keeps ahead : 
An' oft, when his pen at two-forty has sped. 
He catches a moment an' scratches his head, 

Or kerchiefs his nose an' blows it. 

Is it science or art, is it knack or device, 

Born in him or was it acquired ? 
'Tis a gift which yields profit no doubt very good. 

An' I think it is plain that it runs in the "blood ; 
For he raises young short-ban's (as any one would) 
To transmit a vocation so well understood. 

By lawyers an' judges admired. 



48 THE SHORT-HAN ' FELLER. 

Since raem'ry is weak an' lawyers dispute, 

Au' indulge oftentimes in dissensions ; 
Saying, "Witness said so, as ni}' minutes show," 

An', "Witness said contra I'd have ye to know; "■ 
Since judges forget they have charged so an' so. 
How sweet to the short-han' reporter to go 

An' settle all hash o' contentions. 

An' then when the jurors get sleepy an' dull, 
Hearin' all the whole truth till they're snory, 

An' their minds wander off to affairs o' their own. 

An' the issue drops out o' their thoughts like a stone, — 

How 'n thunder could the}', when so jaded they've grown. 

Tell which o' the dogs had the right to the bone, 
Or remember the witnesses' story? 

But the short-han' feller, he never takes naps ; 

He's on the qui vive when the jury 
Wilt down after dinner, and nod in their seats, 

Like deacons at church in the dog-day heats. 
If the lawyer fires up, or the witness repeats, 
No storm o' confusion his record defeats ; 

He writes the whole fracas like fury. 

O marvelous man ! A great wonder you be ! 

You spells it an' makes it good grammar, 
An' you gets it all in. Not a cough or a sneeze 

That belongs to the case but you note it with ease. 
Do you dot all your i's, sir, and cross all your t's 
When you drive at two-forty, or thirty, 'f you please, 

In the midst of a hubbub an' clamor? 

Say, what will you take for to teach us your art, 

We chaps that sit inside the bar, 
An' also the judges, who need some relief, 



THE SHORT-HAN " FELLER. 49' 

The associates, indeed, as well as the chief? 
(au't we have the opinions as well as each brief 
Hereafter writ out in good pot-hook relief. 

Perspicuous an' clear as a star? 

Say. what would you take for to do it up luown 

An' elucidate all that's obscure, — 
C'omin' right to the point like a fish to the hook, 

Makin' argument run just as clear as a brook. 
Then nailin' the thing, with a logical look. 
More firm thau 'tis nailed in the sheep-skin book? 

The meshes. I guess, would be fewer. 

We'd have the great principles settled an' fixed, 

Beyond peradventure of qucere! 
The light of the bench, an' the bar should shine forth 

In a blaze stenographic, — an era have birth 
When our fees should be up to our services' worth, 
An' the horn of our Stenos exalted on eartli, — 
" Momtmenium perennius cei-e." 



50 



TRU FILLOSSOFY OV KORRECK SPELLIN, 

AS LADE DOWN BY STENOS. 
r.IUXE 12, 1875.1 



[Many will remember the mania for spelling that overran tlie countrj' a few 
years ago. The interest in Auburn was so great that public meetiugs were held 
at Auburn Hall, and persons who were proficient in the art entered the lists and 
made public exhibition of their skill in spelling. It was reported at the time 
that our good friend, " Stenos," was one of the champions, and that by some 
unaccountable slip of the tongue he failed on the common word, "firkin." 
The fault, however, I believe, was attributable in part to the fellow who put out 
the words. Hinc illae lachrymae !] 

Sez J. D. P., in spellin, sez he, 

The fust rool to be foUered is tliis : 
Fust, pik out a pheller ov bottom Jiud braue 
To put out the wurds. Kommand him speke plane ; 
Ef he klips the sillerbuls, rapp with yer kane 
An' make him enuushate over agane ; 
An' then from his phault ef he don't refraue, 
Jus pile him away with the victims he's slaue, 

Purnouncin the wurds arnys. 



Sez J. D. P., I tel 'e, sez he, 

Thers 2 wa3^s this biznes to du, — 
vSum spels by the site, an some by the sounde ; 
The eer's the bes gide m}' experens has founde ; 
Butt wen a grate speller is lade on the grounde. 
An phlounders an kicks an dyes with his wounde, 
Tiz generly bekaws the purnouncin's unsounde, 
Not accordin to Webbstur an uthers perfounde, 
But vulghar, deseteful, untru. 



FILLOSSOFY OV KORRECK SPELLIN. 51 

The seckkond grate rool, sez J. D. P., 

AVeu yuve gut the purnounein set rite, 
Is, pictur the wiird spekl out in yer ey ; 
Purnonnce it yerself be i spelliu yu tri. 
Dotiut spit on yer hans like n jimnast an kri, 
Yu challenge the wurld in this kontest tu vy ; 
Butt konsentrate the forse ov yer eere an 3'er ey. 
Then karmly yer volley ov letturs let fli, — 

I tel 'e, yu'U spel like a kite. 

Beware ov the pheller, sez J. I). P.. 

Who poots the wurd '•\furli71" out thus, — 
"Who aksents the/»r^' an jumps over the m, 
Then looks in yer fase with an inuersent grinn. 
An asks yu to spel. lie's for takin yu in. 
H's a heethen Chinee, ful as bad as Ar Sinn. 
He'll trap yu 'f he kan on the sillerbul " in," 
Then larf at yer Huminucks, yer shame an shagrinn. 

1 despize such a mizabul kus. 

Tiz no sine of a duns, sez J. I). P., 

Ef the speller shud spel it e-)i. 
No sine he is bilyous,.or week in the bak, 
Or unsounde in the l)rane ; no sine ov a krak 
In his kraniuni, wich holds, as it wer, in a sak 
His hole budgit ov lore ; no sine ov a lak 
Ov resurch in the grate Unabridged, in hoos trak 
He's foUered for j'eres, an lerut the grate kuak 

How to spel witli his tung an his pcnn. 

The truth is kwite obvius-, sez .1. 1). P., 

Tiiat a exi>urt, who deels in sliort han 
An spels wurds ])y sines kabV)allistic all thru, 
Very much as they spels in the laud of l.u Chu, 
Kant oilers kepe sistems distinct in his view. 



52 FILLOSSOFY OV KORRECK SPELLIN. 

He's gut on his side the grate axium, tu, 
That sum wurds is speld rite in won way an 2, — 
What a ass is the koxkom who ses tiz untru ! 
V[mi fm'Jcin would hold such a man. 

I apele to Jedge Napp, sez J. D. P., 

Hoose geuyus for spellin is grate, 
Original, an hily inveutiv, — nay more, 
Jedge Napp never yit, sir, was lade on the tiore. 
He spels wurds in wun way, or 2, three an fore, 
Espeshaly the klassie wurd, 2ng-2Jen phlovre. 
Wen the Hi Jedge asked, was it pozy or phlore, 
Jedge Napp set the cort room all in a rore, 

Speken up, with his har staniu strate : 

" Pleze 3^er Onner, I say the man is a phool, 

Who kant spel more waize 'an wun. 
Thers no such a lunk in th' Andskoggin Baa, 
From Kotton, Wing, and Hutch down to Hossly's little star ; 
Wun so feerful dull as that, is tu muddlehead by far 
Tu pracktis as atturny in a Hi Cort ov Lor." 
So the Hi Judge larft with a haii\ haw, haiv, 
An didn't fine Napp for his orthograffic phlaw 

In his pig-pen tlore. I've dun. 



53 



COOK'S DIVIDEND. 

[Lines congratulatory to J. G. Cook, Dec. 5, 1877, on his receiving a diviilend 
of four cents from the estate of G. S. Plunimer, bankrupt.] 



Dear Cook : The dawu of better days 
Is breaking o'er this famished bind : 

Plnmraer's estate a tribute pays 

At sight, or promptly on demand. 

Your chiim of sixteen sixty-seven, 

Proved 'gainst the assets and allowed, 

Draws just four cents. Give thanks to Heaven, 
O lucky man I but don't be proud. 

Almost a nickel I Hold your mirth, 
And persevere, for foresight wins : 

A woman once confined, brought forth 
And lack'd but one of liaving twins. 

But here the fee comes back to you, 

A dollar and four cents besides : 
Keep up your courage, don't get blue, 
Kind Providence o'er all presides. 




A FREAK OF ART. 



65 



TIIK IMr OF FAME. 



I read an item in the paper, 

A brief account of one queer caper. 

Cut up somewhere in Ohio, 

Within an artist's studio ; 

A freak for fun, which by mishap 

Turned out to have an afterclap. 

Tlic artist was a fancy man. 

No one-horse artist, but a span. 

He drove a black one and a red, 

Matched up for contrast, as he said ; 

And with his rare, artistic eye 

He wrought strange contrasts on the sly. 

One day into his studio 
'Way out somewhere in Ohio, 
A cuUud youth with woolly head. 
Flat nose, thick lips lined ruby red, 
Came saying, " Ise an errand boy. 
And wants to git me some emplo}'." 

" No errands," said the artist man : 

" I only keeps one black and tan. 

But, Sambo, try your luck in paint : 

I've thought of something rich and quaint. 

Five cents for n'ou I here propose 

If you will let me paint your nose, 



^56 THE IMP OF FAME. 

•' And just one errand for me then 
Do promptly, like a little man." 
" Yis, Massa." Sambo laughed to think 
How easy he should earn the chink ; 
And soon beneath the magic brush 
His little nose began to blush, 

Changing its hue from dark to red 
As free the pigment on was spread. 
"There, Bully Boy I Don't sneeze or snuff 
Don't touch that nose, nor rub it off ; 
But up the street to number nine 
Stiver along (you'll see the sign), 

" Call on the man there, artist Hood, 
Tell him a youth of royal blood, 
An imp of fame, before him stands, 
Ready to do his high commands. 
Tell him the pedigree he shows 
Is cullud like his royal nose." 

Off started Sambo, prompt, intent, 
On errand and on mone}' bent ; 
Conning his message o'er and o'er, 
Tho' '■'•pedigree" oft stuck him sore ; 
Doing his level best to say 
It straight, and so secure the pay. 

Ah, man}^ topers on the street, 

With noses red, did Sambo meet. 

And many urchins hooting loud. 

That jeered him passing thro' the crowd ; 

And soon a rabble they became. 

Hard pressing the poor imp of fame. 



THE IMP OF FAME. 57 

They seized and caught him, just as he 
Stuck on the great word ''■ jiedigree." 
" No darkey boy," those urchins swore, 
" Was e'er got up like him before : 
We must take off that ga}', red nose, 
Red lips is all the law allows." 

They took him to a l)oot-blaek then, 
To have his nose shined black again, — 
One of those expert boot-black fellers, 
Who said he'd shine the darkey's smellers 
For just three cents (a half-price rate). 
And bring 'em to their normal state. 

Just here a cuUud woman came 
And looked upon the im[) of fame. 
And when she saw his visage mild 
She screamed aloud : " My bressed child! 
Put dovm that boy, you brats," said she. 
" Lor^ bress yer, honey, come ivid me." 

She took him home and soaped his face, 
And rubbed his nose till not a trace 
Of royal blood or pedigree 
Was left for any eye to see. 
The artist's skill was all in vain, 
Lo, Sambo was himself again. 

But when he told his dismal tale. 
It made the cullud folks turn pale, 
And vengeance on the artist swear. 
They posted to a lawyer there. 
Friend of the down-trod cullud race. 
And laid liefore iiim all the case. 



58 THE IMP OF FAME. 

He up and sued the artist raau, 
Him of the two-horse dashing span, 
And laid the damage high and strong, 
And put it to the jury long, 
And spoke of civil rights, declaring 
That for a deed so red and glaring, 

Vindictive damage should be found. 
The artist should be punished sound ; 
Compelled to paint his own nose black 
Or suffer torture on the rack. 
These weighty words the jury pondered 
Till half the panel were dumfoundered. 

They soon retired, discussed, and laid 
Their heads together, and they said : 
" Sure, this facetious artist man 
For his rare fun must stan' his hau' ; 
I^o darkey boy, whate'er his name, 
Shall thus be made an imp of fame. 

" Let dancers pay the fiddler's fee, 

No matter what the pedigree." 

So, on a verdict they agreed 

(Let every artist man take heed) : 

" Guilty,'^ the foreman made report. 

'' Fine^ one round hundred,'' said the Court. 



59 



PHIL SHERIDAN. 

THE YELLOW DOG THAT FOLLOWS ME. 



Some (logs inarch boldly thro' the street, 
Contemptuous of all meu they meet. 
You whistle them, aud say : '• (jiood pup ! ' 
They snarl enough to eat you up ; 
And prowling go like beasts of prey. 
While cautious folks keep out the way. 
Such fiendish curs deserve cold lead 
Imbedded proniptl}^ in the head. 

Some other dogs play scaly cards 
As trespassers in folks' back yards, 
Nosiug swill pails with no misgivin'. 
Stealing, in fact, full half their liviu'. 
You say to one : " You scamp, get out ! " 
The pilferer you may put to rout ; 
But look for him again next day, 
No booting keeps such scamps away. 

But better-natnred dogs there are, 
Of better principles by far, — 
Dogs that don't bite and seldom steal, 
And real fondness for 3'ou feel. 
Some carry little curled-up tails, 
Whose wag of friendship never fails : 
And best of all this class is he, 
The yellow dog that follows me. 



60 PHIL SHERIDAN. 

He's fat and sleek ; and he can eat 
More dinner than I dare repeat, 
And sometimes I have honest fear 
Dyspepsia may o'ertake him here. 
To tell his faults is not my whim, 
I'm not the man to tell on him ; 
So fast a friend of mine is he, 
The yellow dog that follows me. 

He playeth many pretty pranks, 
Sits np like Major on his shanks, 
As straight as monkeys or baboons. 
I know his natural pantaloons 
Are worn behind almost threadbare : 
They'll soon be thro' — his only pair — 
And winter coming fierce will see 
A shivering dog, I fear, with me. 

Phil Sheridan is his good name ; 
That smacks a dashing warrior's fame. 
But Phil hath a distaste for war, 
And when there's fighting lurks afar : 
In peaceful parlors loves to dwell, — 
Sometimes when callers ring the bell 
He breaks the peace and is uncivil, 
And barketh like a little devil. 

Timid of war, he's fond of fun : 
Will give all cats that start and run 
A vigorous chase, till they show fight. 
Then he retreats with all his might ; 
Remembering always from the start. 
Prudence is valor's better part. 
Ah, once or twice he hath had cause 
To dread an old cat's teeth and claws. 



PHIL SHERIDAN. 61 

He sits beside nie when I dine. 
And watches all my bread and wine ; 
You'd laugh to see the rogue implore 
And ask, like Oliver, for more. 
And when I take my hat to leave, 
He's ready, you may well believe : 
They never fool'd him yet but he 
Somehow gets ont and follows me. 

I stick by him, he sticks by me ; 

Yet ofttimes when the pesky Hea 

Is prowling thro' his yellow hair, 

And worries him so sorely there, — 

" Phil, catch your fleas ! This is to pay 

For going with low-bred dogs," I say. 

"Keep better company, and be 

Free from your foe, — the pesky flea." 




THE CHEVALIER. 



63 



10 TRIUMPHE!! 

A NEW-YEAR'S RHYME FOR 1874. 



1 am the feller, T whisper to yon, 
AVho crowed for the city in 'seventy-two, — 
The self-same feller, who New-Year's Day 
Saddled his steed and passed this way, 
In the early light of the glimmering morn. 
To lu'rald the birth of the year new born. 

Over the bridge, ere the whistle of steam 
Had startled the town with its matin scream, 
Or the heavy stroke of the larum bell 
Had broken the charm of the dreamer's spell, 
I passed on that strange, fantastical raid, 
In the hoar-frost drapery white arrayed, — 
With visor and helm and dancing plume. 
Careering along thro' the morning gloom 
Like a phantom knight, who sallies forth 
F'rom the crystal halls of the frozen north. 
With mail and trappings reflecting bright 
The hues of the first anroral light. 

I cared not a fig U)v the barking curs 

That followed behind, but, plying the si)urs, 

I pranced along through the city streets, 

Tho' alleys and l)y-ways and sly retreats. 

Past the temple Avhere the button chaps keei). 

And down b}' the blocks where the mill girls sleep 

Doubling the corners and riding so brisk, 

T was gone ere one could ej.iculate, tvhi!<k ! 



64 10 TRIU^rPHE. 

I theu struck out o'er gully aud hill, 
Out where the suburbs are somber and still. 
To the outermost skii't of the spindle town, 
Where the city stops at a stake drove down. 

D'ye sa}' I spin this rhyme to deceive, 

Aud tell such a whopper none can believe, — 

That the woof and the warp of the whole discourse 

Are false, aud assert I can't ride a horse? 

Pray who are you, you lubber, you lout, 

To bring such a narrative thus into doubt, 

To spoil such a stor}' running so fine, 

Setting my verses awrj^ out of line? 

I'll wager my beard, a bottle beside. 

You snoozed in your bed while I did ride, 

You snored like a pig, with a guttural snore, — 

Get out o' my way, and bodder no more. 

Again I am here in 'seventy-four, 

On the same proud steed I rode before, 

Accoutered the same, and I ply the spurs, 

And care not a fig for the barking curs. 

I caper all nimbly, and wave salute 

As gracious as General Grant can do't. 

(Here's a little hiatus, as you will see, 

I've missed, in my haste, year 'seventy-three.. 

There's reason for this quite valid, no doubt, 

I then got married and couldn't get out.) 

You may think, indeed, 'tis shivering sport 
For a chap like me, of the sober sort, 
To be capering thus, aud deem, perhaps, 
I'd better be down upon my taps, 
Slapping my hands with lusty slaps. 



lO TKIUMPHE. 65 



Rapping iny feet with vigorous raps. 
To keep out the teeth o' the biting cold 
That takes of an in-door man such hold. 
I've something inside tliat keeps me Avarm 
Elixir of life — don't raise an alarm — 
I take it straight, this magical balm, 
It keeps the cold out o' me like a cliarm. 



'Tis two long 3'ears since, frisky and spry, 
I paraded the town (how time goes by !) 
On New-Year's morn, proclaiming good cheer, 
Prosperity', peace, and a happ}- New Year. 
I've not grown old, nor rheumaticky much, 
Like the twain who skate, drink cider, and such ; 
Tho' the frosts of years have sprinkled somewhat 
This beard, once glossy and brown as a nut. 
Thank Heaven for pluck ! T seldom do brag. 
But I think just now with my mettlesome nag 
I could challenge the world, and even go by 
The skating old lady, so si)unky and spry, 
With smut on her nose and cider within, 
Tho' skatiuii" a tlagon of cider to win. 



lu twenty-four months behold how the pride 
Of the town has advanced I The codger outside, 
AVho comes along from the neighboring town, 
Beyond the place where the stake's drove down, 
3Iuch marvels to see the marshals and mayors. 
The aldermen, councilmen, city purvej^ors. 
The great brick temple with steeple so high 
(Not so high as the cost, I remark, by the by), 
The grand bazar, the plaza, DeAVitt, 
The mansions where nabobs and mill agents sit, 



66 10 TRIUMPHE. 

The role of the fashions, the livery, the style, 

Whose glories no panic on earth can despoil. 

Ah, countrymen meek, in tlie market to-da^^, 

Standing round for a bid for your wood and your hay, 

Gazing long at the moneyed folks, passing so quick, — 

Sell only for cash, and never on tick. 

There are snobs, I've heard, in this city of mills. 

Who, fast at all else, are slow paying bills. 

The}' take advantage of clever folks, too, 

In a measly way, I whisper to you,— 

A bad state of things, unjust and unlawful, — 

I know of a countryman says it is awful. 

But I spread too much ; I must here draw in, 
And let not the tissue of rhyme grow thin : 
Milk and water for babies will very well do, 
But never for full-grown folks, I trow. 

I'm proud of this city — Ili-yab, Hi-yah ! 
Proud as John Bull was over the Shah, 
Proud as New Yorkers were over Jim Fisk, 
Proud of the fabrics whose tissues we twist ; 
Proud of our pluck, sir, proud of the way 
We've kept the panic financial at bay. 
Proud o' the great men, especially proud 
Of the ladies whose praises I warble aloud ; 
Proud o' the milliners, — what should we do 
If they should bust uj) when panics ensue ? 
Proud o' the sleighriders, — fellers and gals, 
Dashing along past the giugerJnead stalls, 
Billing and cooing along the highway 
Like turtle-doves wooing in April or May ; 
Proud o' the enterprise, bustle and stir, 
Proud o' the gloss o' the velvet and fur, 
Proud as the deacons of Pine Street are, 
Proud as a little boy is of his pa. 



lO TRIUMPHE. 67 

D'3'e wouder bow 'tis I hold so much pride 

And still on my Pegasus manage to ride, 

How 'tis I confine such volatile stuff, 

And never explode and go off in a puff? 

I'll tell ye 'bout that on some other time, 

Just here 'twould impede the grand march o' my rhyme. 

Which now is quite up to the monkey sublime. 

Enough, enough ! I here draw off, 

But never my visor and helm shall doff. 

Enough ! The circuit is now complete : 

The bantam hath crowed, and I retreat. 

I vanish, I'm gone ; I pass from view 

Like a mist which the morning light goes through. 

No more for a twelvemonth, now, I presume 

Will you catch the gleam of my dancing plume. 

Or see the horseman, encased in mail. 

Astride o' the nag with flowing tail, 

Prancing the streets at earh' dawn, 

To herald the birth of a year new-born. 



68 



THE JULEPS. 



Mint and anise, rye and cumin, 
Tliese I put in when I mix 'em ; 
And I stir 'em witli a teaspoon 

Till you hardly smell the rye. 
But there's science in the mixin'. 
And the rule is, so to make 'em 
That a deacon, staid and sober, 

May imbibe and not get high. 

Want me to disclose this secret ? 
By what art I do compound 'em, 
How I make 'em so majestic, 

With the rhymes all flowing free ? 
Whence I draw my inspiration. 
Why the deuce I don't slop over 
When I put on such a pressure. 

And you wonder so at me? 

Ah, you fellers, I'll not answer 
How this business is conducted. 
You may say : "His Muse is boosy, 

Or she ne'er would cut up so." 
I shall hang on to my secret. 
If you thorn me, I shall speak up 
Pretty short, and say: "Confound you! 

It's a thing you'll never know." 



THE JULEPS. 69 

Better far you hark and listen. 
Better give your whole attention 
To the process of this grinding : 

I take hold and turn the crank. 
This machine gives out the music. 
It will tune up loud and louder, 
And the monkey will be playful 

Or his chain'll get a yank. 

Don't be fussy, don't be squamish, 
Please more softly blow your noses ; 
Have you got the epizootic? 

Is it on you all to-night? 
Try a little gentle ginger, 
Some specific which the doctors 
Recommend for idtfuedza, — 

In a moment you'll be right. 

Now I give you the refreshments, 
Give you cakes right from the griddle, 
Give you taffy with the sardines. 

Which you haven't had before. 
Now fall to and have your spero. 
Lo, this poem mareheth onward ! 
I shall stir the fragrant juleps 

Till you cease to cry, encore. 

Hark, the steam is u^). She buzzes : 

Now she booms ! But what's that crackiu' ? 

What the dickens ails my elbow ? 

Ah, I feel so mighty queer: 
Let me blow a little vapor. 
Let me ease somewhat the pressure, 
Lest there be a dire explosion. 

Lest these juleps burst me here. 



70 THE JULEPS. 

Goodness, gracious ! Who'd a thought it? 
Who'd a thought to see the poet 
All fush out like a sky-rocket, 

Flinging far his trump of fame? 
Oh, good brothers, do not name it. 
'Tis with shame I do confess it : 
Too much rye was in the mixin', 

'Twas the juleps were to blame. 

'Tis not often thus I miss it. 
But sometimes the mint and anise 
And the aromatic cumin 

Bother me to fix 'em right : 
Ere I think I lose discretion 
When I use the rye and teaspoon. 
And I make a wide departure 

Which a deacon would affright. 



71 




THE POETICAL MAN. 



I see him on the streets sometimes, 
A man forlorn, who lacketh dimes : 
With seedy coat and last year's hat, 
And cheeks collapsed for want of fat. 

His nose is sharp, his ears are thin, 
A sickly hue is on his skin ; 
His uncut nails are darkly draped, 
No knife, no so.ap, he goes unscraped. 

Seldom he mixes with the crowd ; 
His words are few and never loud, 
His faults not many, — only drinks 
To cut the cobwebs when ho tliinks. 



72 THE POETICAL MAN. 

Now, by the learn 'd professions three, 
What spechnen of man is he, 
AVho, owl-like, thinks when on the streets, 
And speaks no living soul he meets ; 

But wanders on as if possessed 
Of something hard to be expressed. 
And of times 'neath the sultry sky 
"• In a fine freuz}" " rolls his eye? 

Why doth he toil and sweat all day 
In such unprofitable way, 
And then at night up garret sleep 
Where prowling bugs victorious creep? 

Why in his dreams do owls and imps 
And wrinkled hags with horrid crimps, 
And devils blue, and devils green. 
Dance nightmare in a ghostl}" scene ? 

O fascination of the Muse ! 
What mortal man, without the blues, 
Could live such life, and waste his time 
In blowing bubbles into rhyme ! 

So many a vain, presumptuous wight. 
Who's sought to scale Parnassus' height, 
Has turned to nought his hopes and wares, - 
Bad luck, for which nobody cares ! 

Law, gospel, medicine may give 
Enough, perchance, for one to live ; 
But slipshod dreaming all the day, 
As a profession, does not pay. 



THE POETICAL MAN. 

For nought times nought jnst nothing gives 
An axiom which no fool that lives 
Can e'er disprove by writing reams 
Upon the moonshine's watery beams. 

'Tis pleasant to inscribe a name 
Illustrious on the rolls of fame ; 
'Tis nice to have a coat that's new, 
A shiny hat, a meerschaum, too ; 

And sweet to loll in easy chair 
And say, avauut, to cankering care ; 
But, O my friend, depressed and blue, 
These joys are not in store for you. 

No habitation, not a name, 
Not one poor flash of fickle fame, 
Not e'en a perch whereon to cling 
And rest at last a weary wing, — 

Such are the ill-starred fates of those 
Who, not content with sober prose, 
Venture that treach'rous sea t' explore 
Where bards are shipwreck'd by the score. 

Pity the poor, poetic man 1 

Persuade him, if indeed you can. 

To cease his wanderings 'round the town, 

Cease his eternal study, brown. 

Lend him your knife and cake of soap ; 
Inspire him with a better hope ; 
Advise him not to sleep so high, 
vSo far from earth, so near the sky. 



73 



74 THE POETICAL MAN. 

Give him a dime, in his sore need, 
Wherewith to bate his jaded steed. 
Only a dime ! And mark how true 
His harp will ring response to you ! 

Only a dime ! The organ man, 
Who turns a penny where'er he can, 
Would charge no more for one long grind, 
With show of the monkey an' tail behind. 

Only a dime ! Enough, adieu ! 
Enough ! His heart will throb for you, 
And then the lyre's resistless sway 
Will drive the shadows grim away. 



75 



EPISTLE TO H. GREELEY. 

[Addressed to him at the time of his presidential aspirations, in 1872, by the 
young man whom he advised to go West. J 



My ancient friend ! I am perplexed : 
My politics is half unsexed ; 
Pray, what will you be up to next 

With your old hob ? 
You lead a rabble, strangely mixed, 

Rag, tag, and bob. 

What puzzles me the most is tliis, — 
To see iJiose same, that used to hiss 
And sneer at you, now come and kiss 

Your garment skirts. 
And shower you o'er with words o' bliss, 

And loving spurts. 

Are 3-ou with them, or they with you? 
Pray, tell us which, — we want to know. 
It kind o' seems to me, somehow, 

You're off the track, 
And coat and hat, to avoid a row. 

You'd best turn back. 



76 EPISTLE TO H. GREELEY, 

But, Horace, you're a set old feller ; 
'F I counseled you till all was yeller, 
Yea, Tribune like, if I should beller 

What I thought best ; 
You'd say : " Young man, your brain is meller, 

There's farms out West." 

Oh, oncst you were a gallant Whig ! 

You made the Locos reel and jig 

In the old days o' the " Striped Pig," 

Hard cider times ; 
And now you offer them a swig. 

With all their crimes. 

Free Soil was once your hobby horse ; 

Then "Bleeding Kansas," shaped your course, 

You charged on ruffian frauds and force. 

Coat tail a fly in' ; 
And when Rebellion's hordes broke loose, 

Fought 'em to dyin'. 

Ah, what a dose for them you be ! 
How from such physic they would flee 
If other nostrum they could see 

A sight to follow ! 
They'll all be sick, I'll bet a V, 

When you they swallow. 

For amnesty you go it strong ; 

No matter what the crime and wrong, 

*' One happy family," is now your song ; 

" Convulsion o'er. 
We'll sleep together, loving long, 

And sin no more." 



EPISTLE TO H. GREELEY. 77 

Well, go it, Horace ! You know best 
What side to take in this contest ; 
You are a sage witli foresight blest 

To see what's eoniin' ; 
Don't squat the eagle on a nest 

That's foul with vermin. 

Say, if elected, shall you take 
Jeff Davis into your grand wake, 
And give him eliance the dice to shake 

O'er loaves and fishes? 
His bondsmen should, for friendship's sake,. 

Consult his wishes. 

Oh, Horace, Horace ! When 3'ou tell 
Of farming which you know so well. 
And show us how we may excel 

In that vocation ; 
Explain, I pray you, if you will, 

U. S. plantation. 

Explain how 'tis, on that grand scale. 
The art of farming can prevail ; 
So we may try the scythe and flail 

'Gainst opposition. 
And cut and thresh all wlio assail 
Our high anibitiun. 

Consider, sir I You must not win 
With such supi)ort to help you in ; 
Nay, sooner, we will all begin 

Doin' extra courtin', 
And try to save you from this sin 

Bj' women's votin'. 



78 EPISTLE TO H. GREELEY. 

We stand by Grant, who stood by us 
Thro' all the foul, rebellious nniss, 
An' never said to them, " Poor Puss," 

But drove 'em howlin' ; 
Why now desert 'n a trumped-up fuss 

Wi' those chaps prowling? 



Excuse me, sir, this little note 
Will make no difference in the vote ; 
I still respect your hat and coat, 

Tho' they need dusting ; 
The changes, sir, since last I wrote 

Are quite disgusting. 



79 



COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON. 



If a sensible niau may whistle and sing- 
In this land of the frozen North, 
What marvel that I should do such a thing 
As yield to the A'oiee of the laughing spring, 
And let these words go forth ? 

Somehow, a breath of the genial air, 
xVnd a glance of the warm sunshine. 

Will start my Awarble ere I am aware ; 

And I spin out a rhyme quite debonair, 
To humor this Avhim of mine. 

But the laughing spring did I say. and still 

Do I prate of that blissful time ? 
What bosh ! I stand here and shake with the chill, 
And a blast sweeps down from the northern hill, 

Killing the soul of my rhyme. 

Oh I the poets may tune us a vernal strain. 

Of sunshine, blossom, and flowers. 
With never a hint, to the last refrain, 
Of the pestilent slosh, the mud, and the rain. 

That rule this spring-time of ours. 

But who will chant on the long delay 

Of the April showers till June? 
AVho'll harp on the storm that howls all day, 
Or the di-eary drizzle that quencheth the ray 

Of the genial sun at noon ? 



80 COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON. 

If a wandering gleam of the sunshine warms 

And prompteth your heart to sing, 
Go forth and enjoy the season's charms, 
And, — slump in a snow-drift up to your arms, 

In the midst of " the beautiful spring." 

I tell you the romance all fades before 

You walk the length of the street ; 
The March wind comes Avith a sinister roar. 
Your hat goes down to the furthest store. 

While you go off from your feet. 

Ay, worse than this does the laughing spring : 

It inveigles the ladies abroad, 
And then, with its gusts on the mischievous wing. 
Plays deuce with the skirts and the mantles, — a thiug- 

I verily blush to record. 

O spirit of Thompson, enshrined with the bards ! 

Enough of your " dropping cloud " ! 
We stick by our firesides playing at cards, 
No " shadowing roses " adorn our door-yards, 

But a snow-bank is there like a shroud. 

Excuse me, my friend of poetical turn, 

For exposing the prose of the thing ; 
If you will strike the lyre in a season so stern, 
Just encourage the hope of the summer's return, 
Dry up on " the beautiful spring." 



81 




MKS. MrlTDDLE. 



ELIZA JANE PROTESTS. 



Who tole that lie, so sthrappaii au' big, 
Was printed last night in the paper, 
'Bout me overhauled by perlice in the cars 
Wi' a two-gallon jug, a dofyin' the laws? 
My soul ! what a villainous caper. 



Arrah. I jist knows the felU'r that tole 
That dastardly lie, an' I cares not 

For his buttons an' badge an' pretintions at all ; 

'Tvvas Towle was the man that tole it — that's all. 
Spalpeen, den)' it he dares not. 



82 ELIZA JANE PROTESTS. 

An' I knows jist as well who tole all the rest, 

'Bout the sore on my nose (that's got well now) ; 

Does he think I've no pride o' my person to-day? 

Who's the meanest ? To trate a poor woman that way, — 
Divil shake such a In'ute till he yell, now. 

An' then all that stuff 'bout me an' my trade, 

Calling me " the old ancient retailer," 
Meaning I was a dealer in contraband drinks. 
Which is lie to the bottom, — a scandal that stinks ; 
What trash in the world could be staler ? 

Let him write his name " Ed." an' so try to deceive, 

But I knows him, as well as that Towle : 
He peddles out papers, — to him I replies : 
He's an " ancient retailer" himself of old lies 
About me, an' 'tis many he's tole. 

'Tween drinks an' such stories, now, where is the odds? 

By the glass or the paper dealt out? 
Sold at ten cents or three, by myself or that " Ed.," 
Which " ancient retailer," I ask, is ahead. 

An' which should be first put to rout? 

I protests against Towle an' the stories he tole ; 

He did not seize liquor from me; 
An' the feller that writes his name " Ed.," to disguise, 
I protests against all his fantastical lies : 

Sure, Mrs. McFuddle speaks free, 

An' she steps to the front, — Marshal Douglass give 
heed ! 

Look out for that Towle with the women ; 
'Tis no jug he is after, hid under the dress. 
No breach of the laws that he seeks to repress ; 

His brain in a fever is swimmin'. 



ELIZA JANE PROTESTS. 83 

But I keeps to myself a good part that I knows, 

Might damage the case o' that Towle, — 
Takin' jugs from poor women, out under their clothes, 
In the cars where folks travels, — bad conduct, which 

shows 
Him iudacint an' rude, 'poii my soul I 

So I keeps to myself a good part that I knows, — 

But 1 knows that my nose is all right ; 
An' I doesn't sell drinks, an' I doesn't tell lies, 
An' I minds my business, an' will till I dies ; 

But Towle keep out o' my sight ! 



84 



TO THE CULLER OF STAVES. 

[At the city election iu Lewiston, 1879, our genial friend, Charles W. Wal- 
(Iron, Esq., of the Gazette, was triumphantly re-elected to the office of Culler of 

Staves.] 



Charlie agaiii has turned a trump, — 
Charlie, iu whom myself belaves. 

Speed, Pegassus, now flap an' jump, 

I give my lyre an extra thump 

For such a boy to cull the staves. 

He's faithful been, both day an' night. 

Fidelity his bacon saves ; 
Now twelve months more, the hoops all right, 
We know the barrels will be tight. 

For Charlie, he will cull the staves. 

I care not how perverse may be 

The politics ' bout which one raves ; 

The one important thing with me 

Is just to have a man who'll be 
Above a bribe in cnllin' staves. 

All other cullers, since the war. 

Have sunk beneath oblivion's v/aves ; 
But Charlie's bright, ascendant star 
Shines like a torch of biirnin' tar, — 
Such glory comes o' culliu' staves. 



CULLER OF STAVES. 86 

Now geuial Spring comes ou apace, 
An' snrly March no longer raves ; 
Soon will the school-girls romp an' chase, 
An' hunt the May-flower's hiding place, — 
Look out, young culler of the staves ! 

Can you resist Dan Cupid's powers? 

Suppose some game that urchin craves, 
An' opes to you his rosy bowers. 
Where all the girls are cuUin' flowers, — 

Would you not falter cuUin' staves? 

The best advice I have to spare 

Is, shun Dan Cupid, prince o' knaves ; 
He'll trap ye sudden, unaware. 
An" shoot ye thro' the heart, somewhere, — 
Who then would cull the hoops an' staves? 

We'll let ye sometimes share the bliss 
A culler should, who well behaves : 

Ye ma}^ go sparkiu' with a Miss, — 

Whose business if ye cull a kiss 
To cheer ye weary culliu' staves ? 

The barrels always will be tight 

(The culler never, I belaves). 
Cull ou, my l)oy, an' cull 'em right; 
Fling all the bad ones out o' sight. 

Pass onlv merchantable staves. 



86 



THE CITY MISSIONARY. 



The city missionary's name 

Is simi)ly Plum, 
Or sometimes Plumraer, oftener Plum. 

He's not from Rome, 
Nor unction from the church doth claim ; 
But here he hath been known to fame 
For years, a long, well-rounded score. 
Not Father Plum, 
Not Reverend Doctor Plum, 
But simply Plum and nothing more. 

His sanctum, documents, and keys 

He keeps up there. 
Snug in the great, brick chapel, where 

The jail birds share, 
Daily with him his bread and cheese ; 
But chiefly he subsists on fees. 
He makes long circuits thro' the town, 

And country, too. 
Finds heaps o' work to do. 
And fearless gathers in his own. 

No special air of sanctity 

Doth he assume ; 
He dons no robe of priestly gloom, 

Just for a boom ; 
Thinks not o'er much of titles, he 
Ne'er cared a d — for a D.D. 
His work is for the public weal : 

He lays his hand. 
Sometimes with stern command, 
On ruffians who break thro' and steal. 



CITY MISSIONARY. 87 

Conspicuous man is lie in court, 

Keeps order there, 
Pounds on his desk enough to scare 

All who should dare 
Disturb the bench of last resort. 
Woe to the scamp who should retort 
On him, grand mogul, armed with power ! 

His business 'tis 
The noisy crowd to (luiz 
Till at his spectral nod they cower. 

His flock he gathers in his fold, 

And he doth call 
Them often to confessional, 

And, one and all. 
Protects from |)itfalls manifold. 
And he hath virtues, too, untold, 
And impulses, humane and jolly, 

Which grace him there, — 
Tho' he sometimes will flare 
And utter uncouth words a volley. 

We ne'er will let him leave his post 

For heathen lands, 
AVhere cannibals, in hungry bands, 

^\■itll l)lo()dy hands. 
The missionary kill and roast, 
And eat him up,— all save his ghost. 
Perish the heathen ere he go ! 

Such martyrdom 
For generous, faithful Plum 
Shall never be. No, never, no I 



MY GRAND EPIC. 



As one who muses when the whistle blows, 

And feels misgivings tingling to his toes, 

And hears the bells and counts the numbers o'er. 

But cannot leave, tho' fire is at his door ; 

Who still keeps musing with strange unconcern. 

Nor ceases ever while the fire doth burn ; 

So I have mused and searched the stars in vain 

For something, brothers, meet to entertain ; 

Some rhyme in prose, or prose in rh3'me to bring, 

A medley one ma}' Avhistle, or may sing. 

Perhaps some story or some legend queer, 
Would suit your tastes and win for me a cheer ; 
Or, if you're bilious and have shakes and chills. 
Perhaps a few compound, cathartic pills, 
Done up in rhyme, would stir you up to-night, 
Clear off the bile, and set your spirits right. 
What e'er it be, dull, lively, or abstruse, 
Or marvelous strains, like those of Mother Goose, 
I pray you listen, — give attentive ear. 
For 'twill be long ere you the like will hear. 
You will perceive I'm not a deaf-and-dumb bug. 
But quite a star, and surely not a humbug. 

The poet wrestles till his lyre's in tune. 

Then up he rises, much like a balloon ; 

To mortal man it is a thing unknown 

How, when, and where the poet will come down. 

Bard of to-day soars high upon the wing. 

And never harps upon a single string ; 



GRAND EPIC. 89 

And he hath many queer, fantastic ways, 
Which beat the world and shame the ancient lays. 
He doth not bore with one heroic strain. 
As Homer did when Troy was on his brain. 
He hath not got King David's tone and phiz ; 
Not Milton's song, nor Shakespeare's line is liis. 
They are not models for this modern bard. 
Who always plays his own, peculiar card. 
But 'tis important I should start all right, 
And reel off stanzas in good style to-night. 
'Tis always true, in rhyming as in spinning, 
The place to start is right at the beginning. 

Far back, before the days of prose and rhyme. 

About coeval with the birth of time, 

Events began, and some there were took place 

Of vast importance to the human race. 

First, the creation,— when from chaos wild 

The earth was formed, and in tlie sunlight smiled. 

This was a big improvement on the old. 

Chaotic state of things 'bout which we're told. 

It gave foundation and, in fact, a place, — 

vSome foot-hold for the coming human race. 

It opened fields for agriculture, trade, — 

Things which in chaos never would have paid. 

It cleared the way for fine arts, which, 'twould seem, 

Could not have flourished in the old regime. 

Next Adam's make, first living man that stirred : 
He was a social fellow, and preferred 
Gay company. He e'en gave up his bone, 
Rather than eat his garden sauce alone : 
Out of his bone a woman was made up 
To share his joy, his tabh'. and liis cup. 



90 GRAND EPIC. 

Now he was happy, — happy as a clam — 
And she was loviug, gentle as a lamb, 
And thmgs looked well. He never dreamed that she 
Would sell him out for apples on a tree, 
Woidd load him down with trouble all his life, 
And make him curse the day he took a wife ; 
That she would list to a beguiling snake, 
Who'd snake 'em both into the burning lake. 
Hard case for Adam, 'specially when he thought, 
In single life, he'd ne'er have thus been caught, — 
But lived forever in his loved retreat. 
Without a care, except to pick and eat. 



Third, Cain's exploits. He was a farmer bred, 

Achieved a fratricide at home, then fled 

To Nod, near by, where long he wrought disorder, 

And lived of old, — a ruffian of the border. 

He was the first prize-fighter of his day ; 

Could whip his weight in wild cats, so they say. 

The world waxed wicked. Fourth, down poured the 

flood ; 
The waters rose till one poor wight, who stood 
Knee-deep upon a mountain top, hail'd Noah, 
And asked how soon the heavy shower'd be o'er? 
" In forty days," the patriareli loud replied. 
And, helm-a-port, veer'd off on 'tother side. 
He left the wretch perched on the mountain peak, 
Engulfed around, the wave up to his cheek, — 
At which foul treatment there the man got mad, 
And called the patriarch names uncouth and bad : 
Old cove and hoax, — said forty days of rain 
In one continuous spurt was humbug plain, 
A thing unknown. He b'lieved the wind would shift, 
The rain hold up, and soon the fog would lift. 



GRAND EPIC. 91 

Then belching other billinosgate and sass 
(Unfit for rhyme), said Noah might go to grass 
With his big junk, crammed full of beasts and l)irds 
And creei)ing things, caged in, in pairs and herds ; 
He'd take his chance alone, — he'd stan' his watch : 
But hoped such heartless uavigator'd catch 
One of old Neptune's high, tempestuous wakers, 
And get his great ark stranded on the breakers. 

The deluge done, Noah sacrificed a lamb, 
Got tipsy, too, 'fore Japheth, Shem, and Ham. 
Kicked off his clothes, and did improper things, 
Which shock my Muse, who blushes while she sings ; 
Cursed Ham and died, — a hard old dad was he. 
Few would have cared if he had kept at sea. 
Fifth, came confusion at the tower of Babel ; 
'Twas here the mother-tongue of Cain and Abel 
Went out of use, and Hebrew, Latin, Greek, 
High Dutch, and Fiji men in time did speak. 
What followed then, how nations went astray 
And built great cities, chit'fly for display. 
How wars broke out and ravaged those old times, 
Would be too much for these most modest rhymes. 
80, Muse, forbear. — This endeth the beginning. 
Pray, don't you think my Pegasus is winning? 

Methiuks T hear some brother sigh : " Enough ! 
Dry up, O bard, on this old, mouldy stuff. 
D'ye think we want to hear of Cain and Abel, 
And hocus-pocus 'bout the tower of Babel 
At this late day? Not much, I guess, dear sir I 
You'd better take some topic we prefer. 
The Tewksbury picture book, or Oscar \>'il(le. 
Apostle Gove, — some dude more modern styled. 



92 GRAND EPIC. 

Oh, don't begin the world in getting started 
Harping on chaps who have so long departed." 

A good suggestion, brother, timely made, 

I'll profit by it and make less parade. 

There won't be time, 1 plainly now perceive. 

The whole world's history to rehearse this eve : 

Besides, 'tis tiresome, and, — I'm getting dry, 

Although, my friends, a sober man am I. 

I'll shift the scene, the sentiment, and meter. 

And my staid Muse, she shall be now discreeter : 

And while we shift, we'll let the curtain drap. 

An interlude just here to fill the gap 

Methinks would come in well, and be the thing 

To while the time, while we take higher wing. 

If I permit the tide of song to drizzle, 

I fear this Epic may turn out a fizzle. 

Now for a space, list to the serenade : 

The orchestra will make a little raid 

With scientific music very brief. 

Hark, while the minstrel sings : " Hail to the Chief." 



SONG. 

[An ancient minstrel here steps out and sings an old version of " Hail to the 
Chief." He is accompanied by the full orchestra.] 

All hail to the chief who in glory advancing. 

Rides fearless and fast with a plume in his cap : 
May the step of his charger, so valiantly prancing. 

Quick answer the spur, and ne'er need a huddap. 

Quick answer the spur, and ne'er need a huddap). 



GRAND EPIC. 93 

Hail, bail to the hero ecjuipp'd and all ready 
To battle the foe, or to kneel to the fair ; 

Let him reap bis reward in the smiles of some lady 
Who never will jilt him, or pull ont his hair. 
Who never will jilt him, or pull out his hair. 

A crown for the victor, of laurel and bay. 
A wreath for the lady so gentle and true ; 

And for each at the altar a dainty bouquet. 

And a fig for Dan Cupid. — Sing, Ilalli-ba-loo I 
And a fig for Dan Cupid. — Sing, Halli-ba-loo ! 



S (> N Ci . 
[Till' niiiisiivl clKinge.s the key and sings " Tlie Xut-Brown Maid. "J 

The nut-brown maid, in the gala masquerade. 
Was the one that befuddled me with wonder ; 

Her eye was like a lance, as we tripp'd it thro' the dance, 
And she riddled my discretion all asunder. 
And she riddled my discretion all asunder. 

Oh, the nut-brown maid, the cakes and lemonade. 
The music and the diamonds and the glitter, — 

They were too much for me, I had to bend the knee 
To the maid with the cheek like a fritter. 
To the maid with the cheek like a fritter. 

Since then I have a care, and I l)race up like a bear 

When I see such a posy on the titter ; 
And I never will again, be smash'd as I was then. 

By a maid with a cheek like a fritter. 

By a maid with a cheek like a fritter. 



94 GRAND EPIC. 

[At this point the bard Iiaviiig been properly refreshed re-appears and with 
becoming dignity resinneth liis Epic ] 

From dust}" law-liooks what an awful stride 
To that bright seat the l)eaming Muse beside ! 
A tall colossus scarce, methiuks, would take 
vSo huge a step, lest his long legs should break 
And let him down, e'en with a grand careen. 
Into some wide and yawning gulf between, — 
Much less a novice. Pigmy legs and feet 
Would quick give out, nor gain the blissful seat. 



I heard a man say (and it made me sad, 

And half I thought the foolish man was mad), 

I heard him say, he l)'lieved a lawyer's tongue 

Was like a trap, bated ere it was sprung ; 

He b'lieved its hinge was somewhere 'bout the middle, 

It wagg'd both wa3's, its talk was like a riddle ; 

That while on either side it would work splendid, 

For honest truth that tongue was ne'er intended. 

Confound that man, my indignation muttered! 

A bigger lie no blackguard eVer uttered. 

He'd better move to some place far away, 

Where fell attorneys do not prowl for prey ; 

He'll get, if caught about the court-house sneaking, 

A plump rebutter for his evil speaking. 

When my good brother rises in the court 
Surcharged with law on contract, crime, or tort, 
And puts the strong points noted on his brief, — 
Somebody, sure, is bound to come to grief. 
Now therefore, if, that is to sa}', now then, 
If my said brother, speaking, where and when. 
And so forth, should strain fearful hard to save 
A desperate case, — shall he be called a knave? 



GRAND Eric. 95 

Forbid it, Muse, tho' all the slnnderors liiss yoii I 
There's bread and butter pending on tlie issue. 
Oh, never say he's talking just to win, 
And for the merits does not care a pin ; 
But rather say his skill a marvel is, — 
Exempli (/ratia, take a ease like this : 

A. versus B. — suit for a nine-tailed eat 

B. bought of A. She caught full many a rat. 
Was worth her price. But B. declines to pay 
Because the cat, as he makes bold to sa}'. 
Had ten large tails, the which A. stout denies. 
They join the issue Avhich the court now tries. 
Poor puss being dead herself they can't produce : 
Besides, the witnesses are little use ; 

Their memory fails. Thus stands the contest when 
B.'s lawyer rising argues for the ten. 
Nine, says the plaintiff. Ten, B.'s counsel holds. 
The which to prove his logic he unfolds 
And argues thus : " No cat has nine tails, sure ; 
One cat has one : no truth than this is truer ; 
But one cat has more tails than no cat ; then, 
The plaintiff's cat you plainly see had ten." 
The judge he listens, but no man can trace 
His sound opinion on this knotty case. 
'Twould be improper if he should let out 
What he might think in such a case of doubt : 
And if he should, nobody would be bound, 
Because the law is all he can expound. 
The jury's province 'tis, and aye hath been. 
To find the facts. Sound argument will win. 
Charged with the law on the disputed facts. 
They now retire, and the shrewd f(M-eman acts 
As spokesman for the twelve : " It must be so. 
A. has not made out half a case 1 know. 



96 GRAND EPIC. 

That argument is sound ; and I incline 

To think that cat had one more tail than nine." 

In which opinion they all coincide, 

And by their verdict find the plaintiff lied. 

Meantime B.'s lawyer walks about the bar 

And shines resplendent as a new-made star, 

AVhile the outsiders laud him high, of course. 

Saying, " Sir, he'd prove a dog's tail on a horse." 

This is a tedious world, I sometimes think, 
And far too many take to cards and drink ; 
But something genial must be had to give 
Our spirits zest, and cheer us while we live. 
So fun is good. What should we do without it? 
The very world would rise in arms about it 
Were it denied. All Hades, too, would rattle 
With gathering cohorts rushing forth to battle. 
The air itself would be with brimstone tainted, 
All damsels faint who'd not already fainted ; 
Young men who go a wooing would despair, 
Old baches grin and say they didn't care, — 
The very beasts would growl and bite and wrangle 
Were't not for fun this checkered life to spangle. 

Youth is the season when the heart beats high 

AYith bounding life, and joy lights up the eye ; 

Youth is the season when young love first opes 

Its fledgeling pinions, plumed with golden hopes. 

Youth is the season and the gala day 

When every youngster wants a sweetheart gay. 

And every sweetheart dearly loves to mingle 

In those bright scenes which set the heart a-jingle. 

Youth is the season when we're bashful, too. 

And bashful sprigs make always sad ado 

In popping questions (which too early popped. 

Were better checked, or by injunction stopped). 



GRAND EPIC. 9T 

I've rode ten miles beside a pretty shawl 
With heart quite full, 3'et could not speak at all ; 
And once I rode full twenty with a fair one, 
Attired in white, ah nie, she was a rare one ! 
And in an absent-minded fit, I let 
My horse dash thro' a slough of miry wet, 
Which so bespattered her bright form, that she 
Cast withering glances all the way at me. 
Youth is the season, — but I'll here hold in : 
To tell the whole would be, perhaps, a sin, 
'Twould never do ; and I should rather perish 
Than compromise the flames I used to cherish. 

Oh, Robert Burns ! How do my verses vary ! 

Those pretty lines you wrote your Highland Mary 

Who went to heaven, — did always seem to me 

To make it strange you could a drunkard be. 

Your heart was tender and your soul alive. 

And when j^our rustic plowshare once did drive 

A mousie out, or turned the mountain daisy, 

Yon stopped to rhyme, — for which the world long- 



praise ye 



Oh, Robert Burns, why were you e'er so wayward I 

Alas, 'tis pity cause there was to say word 

Against your wild, yet most bewitching nature, — 

Cause to lament you were so weak a creature. 

But gifted men of noble heart and head. 

Full oft '^ the primrose path of dalliance " tread ; 

And some go over to a swift perdition, 

And ere life's zenith end their earthly mission. 

This Epic soon must close. Let me pass on. 
There is a thing that once was in the ton 
And still hath many ver}^ curious uses, 
^\nd oftentimes sensation deep pioduces. 



98 GRAND EPIC. 

That thing is whalebone, which when I was small 

I used to get and hate the worst of all. 

'Twas once, indeed, the staple of the market, 

And I myself did rather like than shirk it : 

It made the straight skirts stand out so bewitching, — 

I used to thiuk I should not fear a switching 

If such a shield 1 had around my spindles, — 

A thing which still m}' admiration kindles. 

I used to think the whalebone made the style : 

I told the girls, when they did laugh and smile, 

That I predicted gents would use it soon. 

Either to i-aise their coat tails to the moon. 

Or else to make a lattice work of arches. 

Whereon to train their glorious, long moustaches. 

I used to tell 'em whales were getting scarce. 

They'd soou pla}' out, but hone was ne'er a farce. 

That flesh and bone would long go well together ; 

But solid meat would sure outweigh a feather. 

Told them the stuff, tho' somewhat hard to burn up, 

"Was good to keep. Some new device would turn up. 

And new devices always pleased the ladies, 

Ere Lucy spoke, or Barnum thought of babies. 

I could not close these grand, heroic verses 

Without this tribute to that source of curses 

Which pestered me when I was young and i)layful, 

And took the girls out riding by the shay-full. 

Here this grand Epic ends. Nunc vates exit : 

Exeunt omnes; carmen magnum rexit : 

Which is a modest, classic way of saying. 

The bard retires, since he has done his bra^ung. 

The crowd go home. This verse, like Fogg's philippic. 

Hath had its day. Selah ! Et vale, Epic ! 



99 



THAT SUMMER HAT. 



'Twns the coquettish month of Ma}', — 
I saw a man go down the street 

In winter clothes, save on liis head 
A pauama, quite new and neat, 
As if to vent some surplus heat. 

J watched that man go down the street, — 
'Twas early in the afternoon : 

I half inclined to counsel him ; 

Friend, you are out a month too soon, 
Pray, save that summer hat till June. 

But fearing he might say to me, 
What business is it, sir, to you? 

I let him pass without a word ; 

But still the hat so nice and new 
Somehow ray gaze intently drew. 

Most of the hats 'twere out that day 
Were winter hats, that held the heat ; 

I could not guess why this one man, 
AVith winter costume else complete. 
Should sport his i)an'ma on the street. 

He elbowed thro' the jostling crowd. 
Conspicuous by his shining brim ; 

I trembled lest some surly gust 

(He was a man so tall and slim) 
Should make a laughing stock o' him. 



100 THAT SUMMER HAT. 

For this coquettish mouth of May, 
So full of pranks, is such a shrew, 

She uips us even when she smiles. 

Beware of her bright sunshine, you, 
Who sport sombreros nice and new. 

Behold, my friend hath made a pause ; 
And o'er the spirit of his dream 

Hath come a change ! I saw as 'twere. 
In broad daylight, a meteor gleam, 
And heard some dozen urchins scream. 

There was a chase far down the street. 
The wayward hat kept well ahead ; 

At times my friend a point did make, 
. Then veer'd the hat and onward sped 
Till, ''drat the thing!" half mad he said. 

Which is the reason why 'twon't do. 
In this coquettish month of May, 

To sport a pan'ma brimm'd so wide 
Upon the street. Wherefore I say, 
" Friend, keep it for a later day." 




THE TWO ST. PATRICKS. 



103 



JOHN DALEY, THE STHRAME OVER: 

AN' HOW HE SAW THE TWA ST. PATRICKS. 



[Tlie late Dr. Ezekiel Holmes of WiiUhroi), for many years editor of the 
Maine Farmer, prefaced a version of the following v'fem published in his 
paper iu the life-time of its subject, with the following- parajjraph, viz. : 

"Our neig;hbors in W. are well aci|uainte(t with that gin-a-wine Hibernian, 
'Sprig of Shillalah,' Johnny O'Daley, all the way from ' Haillie James Duff in 
the Emerald Isle,'— social, good-natured, and witty when sober, but quar- 
relsome and ' orfuUy rantankerous' when the ' craithure is in him.' His 
mad pranks when in the latter situation arc the cause oftentimes for his finding 
quarters in the House of CoiTection, which he liumorously calls the ' Orthodox 
Jail.' Och I but he's a broth of a boy."] 



Who lives jist below hy the bend o' tlie sthrame? 

Troth, who l)ut John Daley hini-sel' ; 
Wi' the brogue o' the bog on his rnttlesonie tongue, 
An' his mischief o' wit as he whistles along, — 

This neighborhood knows Iiiin full well. 

John Daley, ye're chip o' a thriie Irish block, 
An' ye dhraws as an Irishman can, 

Contintment an' paice frae the pii)e that ye smoke ; 

Ye quarrels sometimes, but more often ye joke 
Like the happiest man in the Ian'. 

No doubt ye dug ditches lang syne in Connaught, 

An' thought na' the toil was a burtlien : 
Tlie skill that ye ha', man, in work o' that kind 
AYud lave a sprawl Yankee tin paces behind 
In thrcnchin' a giutleman's garthen. 



104 JOHN DALEY, THE STHKAME OVER. 

I've ne'er heard ye boast o' good looks for yersel'. 

Nor compliment do the owld ledthy ; 
But the childer ye used to extol to the skies, 
Saying : " Darlints more han'some ne'er winked their bright 
eyes, 

Nor ga' one a smile ha' so predthy." 

D'ye mind the owld pistol ye call'd Watherloo? 

The one ye kep' loa'thed, ye said. 
To dhrive frae yer house the too troublesome beaux, — 
Ah ! cruel John Daley to dhrive off the beaux, 

Despite ye yer daughters have wed. 

There's one thing I grieve, — ye sometimes dhrink grog : 

Ye act like the de'il, as they tell, 
When ye dhrink to excess, — ye're defiant o' men, 
An' ye seem like a wild, I'anting lunatic then, 

An' niver John Daley himsel'. 

Why d'ye do it, owld boy? I doubt na' ofttimes. 

Ye ha' thought that the Orthodox Jail 
Was na' place for a sou o' the Emerald Isle, — 
Yer pious godfather, d'ye think he wud smile 

To see ye mew'd up in its pale ? 

In penance ye vowed not to taste it again : 

Ye'd sooner cut off the owld han', 
Whose fingers were blawu to the wnnds, — save a stub. 
Left for loa'thin' the pipe an' definse in a rub, — 

Ye'd show 'em John Daley could stan'. 

Why was it, my hearty, ye missed it so oft 

When roUickin' free and at large? 
Were yer good resolutions entirely forgot, 
That ye slipp'd an' went off on yer beer ere ye thought, 

An' again for the jail were a charge? 



JOHN DALEY, THE STHRAME OVER. 105 

AVas't the toothache that did it, — the toothache, that once 

Took ye sore in the jaw, as yo said. 
An' they gae ye a spoonful o' grog for the pain, 
Which ye held in yer mouth (till ye swallowed again) , 

Long ago, when a wild Irish blade? 

Plow oft ha' I heard ye speak up for the faith 

In serious, — no joking — no fun : 
An' hould that the church (gie St. Peter the glory I) 
Goes back thro' the ages primeval an' hoary 

As far as the light 'o the sun. 

" Yis, an' farther," ye said, " else did niver John Daley 

Spake thrue o' the things that he wot of ; 
Six thousand long years lived the church an' saved sowls 
Ere the heretic Luther ran off frae the faul's. 

Or a Protistint Bilile was thought of." 

I've in mind an owld sthory ye tell o' the days 

When ye bowed like a saint to the cross 
In the blissed owld couuthry, far over the wave, 
Reptile-purged by St. Patrick (his relics God save ! 

Not a bone o' thim knows of a loss). 

How in a cathedral, whose dim-lighted arches 

Smilt howly of incense an' praise, 
Down stairs ye once went wi' the praist an' a candle, 
An' he said ye might see, but forbid ye to handle, 

Bones o' saints who'd long numbered their days. 

An' a sthrappuu big door he unl)()lted an' swung, 

Whin ye saw wi' amazement an' dread, 
A dhry skeleton standin' ciglit foot in his cell, 
Every bone in its place an' adjusted so well. 

That the craithure, he hardly seem'd dead. 



106 JOHN DALEY, THE STHRAME OVER. 

" Who is it? " quo' Johu : " None else," said the praist, 

" Than St. Patrick whose name we revere." 
So he left the big door an' led on wi' the light 
To a nate little cupboard jist 'round to the right, 

Which he opened, saying: " Now, man, look here." 

An' ye looked in an' saw 'twas the bones of a child, 

Standiu' jist to yer waist, as ye said ; 
All perfect an' comely frae toe bone to skull, — 
An eye like a mouse hole, wi' mischief as full, 

Lookin' less than the ither like dead. 

" An' who's this? " quo' John ; an' the praist made reply : 

'• 'Tis St. Patrick long gone to his joy." 
" Twa St. Patricks? " cried John ; said the praist : •' under- 

stan', 
The first that ye saw was St. Patrick, the man. 

An' this is St. Patrick, the boy." 

Long live ye, John Daley, jist down by the sthrame. 

Crack jokes, if ye will, till ye die ; 
Kape sober an' scape frae the Orthodox Jail, 
Make the balance o' life but a holiday sail, 

Ye'll be wanted elsewhere by and by. 

Some day in the gioamin' ye'll go o'er the sthrame, 

An' ye'll niver come back to yer door ; 
For yer whistlin' an' jokes folks'll listen in vain. 
An' the songs that ye sing in a high, merry strain 

Will be heard by the neighbors no more. 

But far be the day ! An' the meadows grow green 

While ye tenant the house by the bend. 
Shure, the patch on the sthrame where the best pratees grow 
Will miss ye o'ermuch when ye pass from the show 

An' yer holiday life to an end. 



107 



HOW IT HAPPENED: 

A KHYME EXPLANATORY FOR JOHN DALEY. 



I ha' heard Johu Daley, 3'e'cl jist like to know 

Who rhymed ye so free in the paper 
AVithout yer eousiut an' towld rascally lies, — 
How the wag, if ye caught him, ye'd gie him black eyes 

To pay for that impudiut caper. 

Ye'd gie him black eyes? Fie, fie, what a man. 

When a joker ye are yer own sel' ; 
Now away wi' such talk an' yer passions control : 
Come, gie us yer han' an' I'll tell ye the whole. 

So ye'll know how that mischief befel. 

Ye see 'twas one night in a dhrame that I had, 

I was walking jist down by the sthrame. 
When divers loud voices I heard in the sky, 
An', sudden, ten rhymers like gol)lins went by, 
Shouting : " Johnny O' Daley for fame I " 

An' they rode all along by the banks o' the sthrame, 

An' belaguered John's premises 'round : 
From the Dead House the Shanghais gae forth in dismay 
Such a screech as the very old Nick were to pay 
Nor a bit o' hot pitch to be found. 



108 HOW IT HAPPENED. 

All' the rhymers gave orders : " John Daley, come forth ! " 

Not afeard, but reluctant was John : 
So they bolted right in, took him out o' his bed, 
Dressed him up in his clothes, put a hat on his head. 

Brought a horse, an' they bade him get on. 

Then the man who'd " not knuckle to St. Peter himsel'," 

He mounted that nag in a minute : 
Sayiug, " Shure, its not I to refuse a good ride, — 
The baste is as fine as one nade to bestride, 

An' I'll go tho' the mischief be in it." 

An' the rhymers all laughed : " Ha, ha, ha, he's good 
pluck. 

He's worthy as Coesar of fame : 
So we'll take him along without squabble or strife. 
An' we'll print all the things he e'er did in his life, 

Since they called him John Daley by name. 

" We'll tell of his pranks, an' his wit, an' his fun, 

Of his pipe of contintmint an' paice. 
Of his Watherloo pistol which killed a man dead, 
An' his fingerless han' a Philistine might dread. 

If he caught the dhry knock in his face. 

"An' we'll tell how he saw the dhry bones o' the two, — 

St. Patrick the man an' the boy — 
In the blissed owld counthry, ere he sailed all the way 
From Baillie James ]3uff to the St. Lawrence Bay 

In the immigrant craft, Ship-a-hoy. 

" For the world ought to know o' these wonderful things ; 

An' the world would laugh hearty no doubt. 
If it kenn'd but the half what he's said an' he's done. 
There's a prank he once played both for freedom an' fun 

Which the doctors might tell for the gout. 



HOW IT HAPPENED. 109 

"' The story goes thus : John Daley ouce lodged 

( )ver night in the Orthodox Jail, 
Quite elastic, indade, but not out o' his wits : 
'Twas in times when Maine Law gae the ruinsellers tits 

Upon proof of unauthorized sale. 

•' Next day to that jail went the strict selectman, 

All zeal in the temperance strife : 
' 'Tis a sorrowful sight, John, to see ye in here ; 
If I thought ye'd behave an' the facts could appear, 

I'd let ye go home to yer wife.' 

''John promised full well an' strong facts did disclose, 

Sliowing plain 'twas one Packard made sale : 
Said he had grog o' him an' gae tin for it too, 
An' he'd swear it in court if they'd jist put him thro'. 
An' John could go forth from the jail. 

•' So John was released an' next day in the court 

Swore the truth, like a witness demure : 
' Had ye grog o' this Packard arraigned on complaint?' 
' Yis, I had.' ' Did ye pay for it? ' ' Niver a cint, 
I did not, now, Yer Honor, be shure.' 

•• Then the lawyer so smart : ' Do ye mean to say that? 

AVhat, did ye not tell the s'lectman 
Ye had grog o' this Packard an' gave iiim tlie tin ? ' 
• Ah, Yer Honors, I did : 'Twas to put the grog in. 

Shure, the tin was me little tin can.' " 

An' the rliymers kept talking these things to themselves : 
" Yes, an' there was the journey he made 

To Kintuck wi' one Hammond, botli back in dispair. 

Being too abolition to suit 'em out tliei-e. 
An' suspected perhaps of a raid." 



110 HOW IT HAPPENED. 

An' the rest o' the thuigs, the back bone o' John's fame, 

All in detail they said should appear : 
Henceforth wi'the big bugs he'd be an' the kings, 
His name in the corners o' papers where sings 

The Muse like a brisk chanticleer. 

Here the rhymers pranced ott' wi' the haro along, 

An' were soon wi' the darkness begrimed : 
I saw them no more ; but the paper next day 
Had a scrap in the corner, — an' that was the way 
John Daley, the dabster, was rhymed. 



Ill 



ODE FOR THE X. Y. Z. 

[A literary society wliicli liad been much interestetl in the reading of Hue'! 
travels in Tartary.] 

An ode then it is for this Thanl<sgiving eve. 

Pray what sliall its character be ? 
Not silly, not sad, for ])oth ^yould be bad 

In the tastes of the X. Y. Z. 

Something ueat but not gaudy, it strikes me would do ; 

Something. — ah, it's right in ray eye. 
So, Peggy, go long, — what, do your visions throng 

But with manes of puddings and pie? 

In sooth if they do, not worse are you off 

Than I, your unfortunate master : 
The good things of life must sometimes be rife, 

In the brain of a young poetaster. 

But go long, sir, I say : go faster along ! 

There's nor reason nor rhyme in delay : 
Flap smartly your wings, for astonishing things 

Must be done on this festival day. 

There, better, eclat! You gain on it now. 

But stop, let me speak to my Nancy, 
That everything pretty to weave in a ditty 

May come in a trice to my fancy. 

Who's she, is it asked? Why, a genius of thought. 

There's one for every true poet : 
Mine I call Nancy for her necromancy 

'S my sine qua 7ion of go it. 



112 ODE FOE, THE X. Y. Z. 

Starting fair tlieu, with aid of both Nancy and Peg, 

We're off for a metrical jingle : 
Right merry good sense, unreserved we'll dispense 

To you all both married and single. 

First greet we the fair ones, since chiefly to them 

Indebted, O brothers, are we, 
For this chance of reciting our excellent writing. 

And showing what pumpkins we be. 

Oh, may they be happy ! (as also may we !) 
Inasmuch as they've had their own way : 

But to sit here and listen when genius might glisten 
Is not the fair thing, I should say. 

Well, fair ones all greeted, we now pass on 

To the poetry part of our ode, 
Which, if I survive to the end, I shall strive 

To finish up quite a la mode. 

Come, pretty conceits, that always will come. 

At the call of the lyrical bard : 
Come, fashion my rhyme, make it tall and sublime 

Like the won'erful camelopard. 

Natural history I like, hence similes drawn 

From that source always give me great pleasure : 

Two or three more, like the one just before, 
Would make these verses a treasure. 

But this is digression, so all out of place : 

What follows hereafter shall be 
Pure poetry, such as I seldom shall touch 

With the brush of my Jew cV esprit. 



ODE FOR THE X, Y. Z. 113 

Be cautions, my Pegg}", we fly A'ery high ; 

Look out for the stars as 3'ou go. 
Keep clear of Oriou and Leo, the liou, 

And all those fellows you know. 

How glibly Ave glide thro' the regions of space I 

I seldom have gone it like this : 
The earth way below, like a vagaliond crow, 

Seems wandering 'round the abyss. 

My ! what a flurry of lieautiful thoughts 

Were those that flew past me then, — 
Ah, were it not that there's a brick in my hat 

I should have dismounted beeu I 

Hold ! others I see. but emaciate they look 

And thin as the ghost of a sinner : 
They're nothing, by dickens, but shades of those chickens 

AYe had in a pie for dinner. • 

What's yonder out there? My stars, 'tis a comet, 

I know by this sulphurous smell : 
Now if we should fail to keep clear of his tail 

We may go where the blue devils dwell. 

Let's returu then, forthwith, without any delay: 

No further up here will I roam. 
The world I still see — oh, thither let's flee, 

And won't it seem good to get home? 

Welcome, ye regions familiar once more ! 

We're grateful as grateful can be : 
])Ut before we alight, we'll take a shorl tliglit. 

The land of the Tartars to see. 



114 ODE FOR THE X. Y. Z. 

A fine country this ! Nice people are tliese, — 

As pretty a place as I've been in ! 
The lamas look sleek, the camels look meek, 

Not slow the Mongolian women. 

Here's one chap I know. 'Tis Samdad-Schiem, 

The friend of my friend, Mr. Hue : 
I've seen him quite oft, his head's rather soft, 

But still he's a man of good pluck. 

Lo, what do they here on the bank of the river? 

The}'' re casting out spirits, I guess ; 
For men never I've known so a hill to run down, — 

Why, what does their senses possess? 

Ha, I see thro' it now ! No longer to tell 

What they're up to I am at a loss. 
They all go ker-thump on the old camel's rump. 

And thus they propel him across. 

Having seen all that's here, we'll now go back, 

And make preparations to stop, — 
Not rashly, indeed, but we'll break off our speed 

After something the style of a top, 

Which you know always stops when it goes very fast, 

B}' gradually ceasing to whirl ; 
So a verse or two more and the cry of encore 

Unheeding, our pinions we'll furl. 

Before closing I ought very truly to say 

What music I meant should be used 
In singing these lines. My fancy opines 

The music should not be confused. 



ODE FOR THE X. Y. Z, 115 

For good liues are oft spoilt by bad music you know. 

As new bottles are burst by old wine : 
Now I should be sorry to stop in such luiny 

As not to have music divine. 

I shan't do it. I shall try, tho' vainly I trj-, 

To select for these verses a song : 
The Muse I will at her to help in this matter, 

The meter I think I'll have long ; 

Unless particular 'd better eouvej' 

The meaning and sense of my rhyme : 
If 'twould, then say I, by all means, let's try 

Particular meter this time. 

Fie ! I can't sing alone : for if I don't hear 

A voice in the treble I'm dumb. 
Oh, would that some Annie, with voice sweet as manna, 

Would help me, we'd then give it some I 

But 'tis vain. Besides, I'm too tired just now 
To arrange a good song for my verses : 

So sing as you like 'em, dear sirens, don't spite 'em. 
Try 'em on when the choir rehearses. 

Now stop I right here. I've determined on this : 

You couldn't persuade me to go 
A page further for money, no, nor even for lioney, 

Both which I like well as you know. 

So hush'd be the lute strings I Rest thee, my Peg, 

Best beast that was ever bestrode I 
Here's verse thirt^'-four and never a one more, 

And this is the end of our ode. 



116 




'! i T c. 




THE GOVERNOR. 

GOV. DUNN'S NEW HAT. 

[Presented to him at the Jamiary Term, 1881, by the Androscoggin Bar- 
Association.] 



The ancient tile whicli late he wore 
They say was nobby years before, 

When he was Gov., 
But on it for the last decade 
Have blight and mildew sorely preyed ;, 
'Tis all unfit for dress parade, 

Put 't in the stove. 



GOV. Dunn's new hat. 117 

For in its place a stylish oue, 
Bang up and shining as a bun, 

lie now supports ; 
It sits majestic on his pow, 
And shelters his Websteriau brow, — 
No bettor-looking lawj'er now 

Frequents the courts. 



Keep still about the boots and coat 
And stand-up collar round his throat ; 

We can afford 
To tolerate such dress as that, — 
We won't except to his cravat : 
What we complained of was the hat. 

Say not a word. 



I know the old one somehow took : 
It had a good old Bourbon look, 

Till fusion struck ; 
Then, like a greenback soiled and rent, 
All of a sudden it was spent. 
And with its substance, some sa}', went 

Jacksouian pluck. 



But that is an aspersion foul. 

At which the Gov'nor'll raise a howl. 

Shade of A. J. ! 
Forbid that e'er a son of thine, 
Who'd thus his loj'alty resign, 
Should have a hat wherewith to shine ! 

How's that for hish? 



118 GOV. Dunn's new hat. 

Now, David, take ns in to lunch, 
And give us lemonade or punch, — 

Something to cheer ; 
For we are down i' th' mouth to-day : 
Our gentle Swan has fled away, — 
Gone where the woodbine twines, they say, 

When wanted here. 



Gone to the prairies, all forlorn, 

A sharpening scythes and shelling corn, — 

Whisper it low. 
Why did he leave us on the sly. 
Nor stop to bid the Bar good-by ? 
Who bribed him to desert and fly ? 

Tell if you know. 



119 



THE WATER CAMPAIGN IN AUBURN, 

MARCH, 1882. 



A thoughtful miiu weut home at night 

Revolving in his mind : 
What if the city should burn up 

Nor leave a trace behind? 

What if the tire fiend should break loose, 

Run riot round the town, 
And singe the whiskers oft" my cheeks. 

The hair from oft" my crown ? 

Who'd have to bear the blame for this. 
When right beneath our feet, 

Protection flows in iron pipes, 
So ample and complete? 

I own no stock ; I only take 
M}" water straight and i)lain, 

And pay my taxes like a man, — 
Lord ! what have T to gain? 

1 lie awake all night for fear ; 

I raise no points of law : 
The contract gave the city, sure, 

A perfect right to draw, 

And that's enough. "W'lio l)ust that trade, 

And left us all exposed 
To fire and brimstone? Let the scamps' 

Foul mischief be disclosed. 



120 WATER CAMPAIGN IN AUBURN. 

"We'll vout this city goverument, 
And stoi) this foul misrule ; 

We'll put iu men who money have, — 
None of your poll-tax school ; 

We'll send the lunk-heads home at once, 
And have some statesmen who 

Will see the one important thing, — 
Protect both me and you ; 

And when our little job is done. 
Our coup d'elat attained, 

We'll quietly disband and go 
Our several ways unstained. 

There is no treason in our acts, 
No Gile within our hearts ; 

Gile does not play a part with us, 
Be-Giling witli sly arts. 

We're Gileless all as bleating lambs ; 

But when our backs is up 
We fight for right with Spartan pluck. 

And ue'er the cudgel drop. 

When, in the course of town affairs, 
A crisis comes like this, 

We fuse and rally one and all, — 
No matter how they hiss. 

So rally. A'oters, rank and file, 
Throw off all party ties : 

Protection is the thing we want. 
The apple of our eyes. 



WATEIl CAMPAIGN IN AUBURN. 121 

Clean out the poll-tax men who rule, — 

Thiow (lust and dirt and gravel ; 
Don't let them make our Jordan road 

A hard, hard road to travel. 

James Dingley's grievance is severe, 

His wrongs or}' for redress ; 
And, by the great horn-spoon, we'll give 

This i)oll-tax crowd distress. 

And, when the hash is settled up, 

A love-feast we will hold, 
And generations now unl)orn 

AYill laugh when this is told. 



122 




JENKINS. 

TO JENKINS, THE JANITOR. 



You asked me, Jenkins, 'bout the book^ 
How soon 'twas going to issue? 

And I mistrusted from your look 
You thouglit you'd like its tissue. 

You told me, Jenkins, you'd subscribe 
And buy one, if I'd print 'em ; 

You'd help me out, my health imbibe 
When I abroad had sent 'em. 

I put you down among my friends, — 
A whole-soul'd, generous fellow ; 

A man of taste, who comprehends 
The deep thoughts and the shallow. 



JENKINS, THE JANITOR. 123 

The Court-House is 3'our special care, 

You keep the furnace sighing, 
You bring the books for lawyers there. 

You watch the cases trying. 

You fetch the Judge his daily mail. 

You wait upon the ladies, 
Who crowd the galleries to the rail, 

Tho' foul the air as Hades ; 

(This last is not a fault of yours : 
No court-room will smell fragrant, 

But gaseous, like the slums and sewers, 
When comes the crowd so vagrant.) 

You brush up the attorneys' room, 

And try to keep it tid}- : 
But still, in spite of brush and broom. 

Some make it look like hidy. 

That room has got a checker- V)oard, 

1 see, that's used by many : 
If now at law we're skunk'd and tloor'd. 

We'll have a game, I vauny. 

The table has no Bible yet, 

Tho' soon I hope to note it : 
Here's missionary field, you bet. 

And heathen who can't quote it. 

I answer you, my friend, in rhyme, 

Tho' further I sha'n't spin it: 
The book will issue in due time. 

And. .Icnkins. you'll be in it. 



124 



JUDGE WALTON'S THERMOMETER. 



Some judges on the bench give weighty thought 
To points of law, as learned judges ought ; 
And ne'er rouse up, tho' sweltering with the heat, 
Or shivering cold with icy hands and feet. 



Some keep the law all straight and still take cai'e 
To have the court-room flushed with good fresh air, 
To have the temperature kept at the point 
Where mind and muscle won't get out of joint. 



Our Judge, while gracing well the bench supreme, 
Allows no trifling with his favorite scheme : 
If 'tis too hot, too cold, — if aught's amiss. 
Up goes his finger, " Jenkins, see to this ! " 

He knows what's right : and for his certain guide 
He's got an instrument that is his pride, 
Which he hangs up where it is full in view, 
So he can see, and Jenkins can see too. 



And it is just one marvelous little thing, 
With figures on it, and on top a ring- 
To hang it up by, and the mercury goes 
So curious thro' the long, glass tube it shows. 



.JUDGE Walton's thermometer. 125 

The proper eourt-room gauge upon the face 
Of this judicial toy, — the stopping phice, 
Sine qua non — is seventy in the shade : 
The mercury here, the .Tudge ne'er makes a raid. 

But let it mount up, say, to eighty-live, 
The -Judge and .Teukins scarcely would survive ; 
The lawyers roast, — and prematurely some 
Might catch a foretaste of the doom to come. 

If any, fore-ordained to burn by'n by 
In the great pit where furnace heat runs high. 
Should seize that thing when stepping off the stage, — 
Who knows but there 'twould fix the court-room gauge : 

Toning the heat down to that standard wliich 
Would be congenial in the lawyers' niclie ; 
Clearing from smoke the surcharged, sultry air. 
Making the brimstone fumes less pungent there? 



126 



GEN. BUTLER APPEARS FOR THE LASTERS. 

[S. J. C, AND. CO., APRIL TERM, 1884.— HASKELL, J., PRESIDING.] 



Nunc " mans Idboravit et." — miraMle dictu! 

The prettiest little fable Uuele ^Esop ever knew ; 

One chock-full of Latin, and chock-full of sense, — 

There's nothing like a big gun to muster for defense. 

Hearken how the General himself came down 

And answered for the laster-men here in Auburn town. 

The case called in order, he riz up in the court. 
Said his clients all were innocent as little lambs at sport ; 
Said they didn't break the law (but trial he would waive), 
And they'd promise for the future to be civil and ])ehave ; 
Said tliey'd never re-assemble the workers to combat, — 
The case might hang along as a guarant}" for that. 

Defense was very brief : but the people they came out 
For to hear and for to see what the Gen'ral was about : 
Some said the State's attorne}', why, he'd floor him on the sly, 
And never raise his finger or even cock his eye. 
It transcended all the Barnum shows that ever yet came 'roun', 
The Gen'ral with the Glover Band to 'scort him thro' the town. 

From city and from suburb, the women and the men. 
Came thronging to the trial, — all who'd ever heard of Ben : 
They waited on the steps and they jostled and they jamm'd. 
And when the court was opened, the court-room it was 

cramm'd. 
They listened and they gazed with an interest most intense, 
But couldn't see nor hear at all the crowd was so immense. 



GEN. BUTLER APPEARS FOR THE LASTEKS. 127 

The talk was to his Honor there, and when the talk was done, 
They thought the great defense, forsooth, had not in fact 

begun ; 
And tlu'v were mad as hoppers and were disappointed sore 
AVhen told the great defense, forsooth, was finished and all 

o'er. 
Some hadn't seen the General and vowed they'd not go 

home ; 
Some swore 'twas all a blarsted sell and wish'd they hadn't 

come. 

One laster didn't like the terms agreed to in defense 
And claimed his right to trial there indicted for offense ; 
And refusing to recognize for appearance at the next. 
Was chuck'd into the jail awhile, diimfonndered aud per- 
plexed ; 
But lifteen minutes' durance vile re[)ented him, and he 
Recognized with the rest and said: ''Jail is no place for 
me I " 

The upshot of it all was this, achieved by skill sublime. 
Not a single sticking laster was convicted of the crime ; 
The Gen'ral cleai-'d them all at once, by tactics slu'cwd and 

brave, 
On condition and providin'' they'd remember to behave : 
Which was glorious for the Gen'ral and for the lasters too, 
Aud a gala day for Auburn town I here remark to you. 

The (ieu'ral beats the world you see. He plan's h.is card to 

win. 
And mighty smart must be the man who takes the Gen'ral in : 
He missed it (uice in Tewksbury, l)ut i>ray now what o' tha^? 
His victory here will make amends and give him great edat. 
But blaze it not in Tewksbury, for they don't like to hear, — 
.Such glorv for the General would lU'ttle them T fear. 



128 



THE AUBURN GHOST. 



[A few years ago, while a revival was in progress in Auburn, an apparition 
appeared on several occasions, and created quite a sensation in town. Tlie fol- 
lowing poem, written at that time, commemorates the experience of a young 
man who encountered the mysterious presence on his way home from evening 
meeting. The facts are, substantially, as vouched for by him. The moral is 
simply a suggestion, showing the danger of too many sweethearts on the arm at 
one and the same lime.] 



Now, when the work o' grace is doiii', 

And many sinners are eschewin' 

Tlieir wicked ways, — pray, Avhat's a brewin'? 

Beelzebnb 
Is plotting mischief, fright, an' inin, 

Their faith to snub. 

They cannot keep him chained an' bound ; 
Still, as of old, he's bummin' 'roujid 
All pious counsels to confound : 

His horn an' hoof 
From scarce one spot o' hallow'd ground 

Will keep aloof. 

Sometimes in black, sometimes in white. 
Disguised, he stalks in broad daylight ; 
An' sometimes prowlin' late at night, 

'Bout ten or 'leven, 
He waylays meetin' folks, — to fright 

Their souls from heaven. 



THE AUBURN GHOST. 129 

Seldom he tackles old an' tried ones, 
Who, steadfast as the glorified ones, 
.Stand firm, howe'er the evil tide rnns : 

He chooses rather 
The tender converts, j^oung, bright-eyed ones, 

To scare an' bother. 

Last Monday night, when dim the moon 
Thro' misty clonds scarce blinked aboon, 
A young man, hummin' sacred tune, 

(ioin' home from meetin' 
With Misses three, fell in a swoon 

At his rough greetin'. 

He first smelled brimstone, then he saw 
( )ld Nick's grim beldam near 'em draw 
With one long-jointed, harpy claw 

Outstretched to grab 'em, 
An' teeth set in a lantern jaw, 

Sharp filed, to nab 'em. 

Full eight feet high, the young man said. 
At them the specter shook its head 
With eyeballs glaring fier}' red. 

Then belched a groan, 
Wheieat the damsels screamed an' fled. 

An' he fell down. 

So terror-stricken an' unmanned. 
He could not raise his valiant hand 

Against the foe. nor make a stand, — 

l>Mt lay there dyin'. 
Without one tiiought o' happ}- land, 

Or dnmscls flyin'. 

!) 



130 THE AUBURN GHOST. 

Now tlmuk the Lord, whose power arose 
Rioht here ao-aiiist foul fiends an' foes 
An' saved his lambs ! Alas, who knows 

How dire the harm, 
Had he forgot to interpose 

His strong right arm? 

Ah, what a frightful tale to tell 

Had old Nick caught each bloomin' belle, - 

Had three been seized in that In'ief spell 

B}^ art Satanic, 
An' hurried, sudden, off to hell — 

Oh. what a panic ! 



JMORAL. 

Young man ! young man ! Avhen late at night 
The meetin's out, an' all the light 
Is Auburn's gas, not extra bright, 

Escort but one ; 
Take never three, lest 3'ou take fright 

An' be undone ! 



131 



FINALE. 

The show is over. Here the curtain falls : 
Yon need not hearken now for caterwauls, — 
'Tis past midnight and all the cats have fled. 
This orchestra is tired and going to bed. 

Confound the Muses ! I ejaculate : 
Nunc libera me! Thej-'d keep one on the wake 
Till lights l)urn blue, when one should snoring be. 
Not out with them larking it merrily. 

Confound tluMu all I No solier, nuirricd nuiu 
Should flirt witli them. He'd better, if he cau, 
Drive them to roost at early candle-light : 
They murder sleci). if they get out at night. 

Then when at morn one hears the bantam crow, 
He will wake up with vigorous life aglow : 
Not look blear-eyed, like votaries at the shrine 
Of ancient maids yclept the Sacred Nine. 

Considerate bards at night hang up the lyre. 
And quench awhile the wild, Promethean fire. 
I follow suit, and with the poker bury 
The embers deep, for I feel prosy, very. 

The show is done. Now scatter and disperse ! 
You will not get from me another verse : 
Grave doubts still haunt me as when J l)egun. 
But I shall rallv. now Ihe concert's done. 



OCCASIONAL POEMS. 



The foregoiug, it is believed, embraces the "'effusions'' 
called for by the vote of the Bar Association, and completes 
the collection intended to be included under the title, 

•• TXSIDE THE BAE." 

At the suggestion and request of some friends, and with 
the approval of the Association I believe, I publish in this 
connection a few poems of a different character, some of 
early date, others more recent, several of which are quite 
outside the legal atmosphere. I need offer no apology here, 
I think, for these additions to the collection. Whether to 
couple them with w^hat precedes is strictly in accordance 
with good taste and that nice sense of propriety which should 
be observed by one venturing before the public in work of 
this kind, those who read must judge. If the occasional 
poems which follow possess any interest, local, personal, or 
otherwise, for those into whose hands the book may fall, 
and are not distasteful to the members of our fraternity, 
it may perhaps be deemed a sufficient warrant for intro- 
ducing them here. 

J. W M. 



137 



THE BURDEN OF THE RHYME. 



I waut a burden, oue that I can cany, 

An easy, tasteful burden for my rhyme : 

A yielding mass which I can shape and vary. 
And fashion to my whim at any time. 

I want a burden. — not a cumbrous weight. 

To weigh me down whene'er I spread a wing. 

And force my lyre to cries disconsolate. 

When I, forsooth, should like a syren sing : — 

No pilgrim's pack, but just a well-poised load, 
Which I can swing with an elastic tread, — 

One that shall not niN' freedom incommode. 
While on I press to gain the prize ahead. 

I want, — what do 1 want? 'Twere sweet to know 
One's pressing want in such an hour of need. 

'Tis not a legend with romance aglow, 

'Tis not a warrior prancing on his steed, 

'Tis not a hero. These are commonplace 
And crowd before us whereso'er we go. 

'Tis something nameless my mind's eye would trace 
And which 1 fain would si)rcad before you now. 



138 THE BURDEN OF THE KHYME. 

For I have wandered in some pleasant fields. 
By cool cascades, in pathways where the sun 

A mellow radiance thro' green foliage yields, 
And soft, responsive voices, many a one, 

Have whispered me, unheard by other ears ; 

And strains of music such as only come 
From sources where one sees no form, but hears 

Eolian murmuriugs as his footsteps roam ; — 

Such marvelous strains at times mine ear hath caught. 

And I have listened till the music's spell 
Within my soul an ecstasy hath wrought, 

Such as no earthly minstrel can compel. 

It is not all a witch note of the aii-. 

The fitful trembling of some wild harp-strings. 

That wins me thus and chains my spirit there. 
As to a fount whence inspiration springs. 

Not iu such fields and pathways of delight 
The burden of the poet's song is found : 

Nor from such sources, fanciful and bright, 

Issue the rhythmic measures of sweet sound. 

The burden of the poet's living song 

Lies not in theme or net-work of a lay : 

The theme is stale,— unless 'tis borne along 
By flood of melody that must have way. 

The ringing note, the echo lingering sweet. 

The breathing word whose utterance thrills the heart, 

The earnest thought that doth itself repeat. 
The tender touch that bids the tear to start, 



THE BURDEN OF THE RHYME. 139 

The flow of numbers gathering force and fire, 
The stress of song impatient of control, — 

These are the burden of the poet's lyre. 

Springing harmonious from his inmost soul. 

Therefore if something of that magic power 
Shall stir within. I shall tlu' burden find; 

Nor, haply, lack the skill for one brief hour 
To swaj' some heart responsively inclined. 

Therefore I yield at times, and softh' touch 

The harp whose strings are with the ivy clad : 

Tho' my vain effort miss the mark o'ermuch, 
Yet I rejoice if but one heart is glad. 



'^^^^u^ 




WEST PITCH. 



141 



WEST PITCH. 



[The falls at the Amlrosfogi,nti at Lewistmi, Me., are diviiled hy a high pro- 
jection of the ledge, between wliich and the Auburn side is a deep gorge or 
channel worn tlirough tlie rock, and known as West Pitch. In time of freshet 
the great bod)- of the water passes down through this gorge, presenting a 
grand spectacle and constituting the most interesting feature of the falls.] 



List to the souiul of the cataract's roar ! 
That deep-toued voice yon have heard before, 
It hath spoken for ages — its thniideriiig- tongne 
Is ever attnned to the same old song. 

It speaks when the spring-time floods come donn, 
As the ocean speaks when tempests frown ; 
Then dies awa}' as the snmmer comes 
To a hiHaby soft as the rivulet hums. 

See how the waters first pause on the brink. 
As if from the terrible plunge they would slu'ink, 
Then shudder and curl — till over they go 
Like an avalanche hurled on the rocks below ; 

Sending wreaths of foam and spray afar, 
In the clash of their elemental war ; 
While up from tlie boiling tinnult leaps 
A cloud in whose mists a rainbow sleeps. 

Stand on the shelf of the rifted rock, 

Where the current goes down with a whirl and a shock, - 

Tumultuous, wild, im[)etuous, grand, 

With a might no barrier can now withstand: 



142 WEST PITCH. 

Gaze on that hell with suspended breath — 
Think of the suicides' terrible death. 
And the fiercer hell of the heart which hurled 
The victims, ruthlessly, out of the world. 

Ah, what a burden comes now on the song ! 
List to the howl which the waters prolong : 
Two poor wretches, — frail, maidenly forms. 
Together o'erwhelmed in the cataract's arms. 

Speak not of errors which sicken the heart 
And madden the brain till reason depart — 
Your voice, O frenzied waters, to-day 
Is a demon's howl o'er the strangled prey. 

And the hoarse refrain all day, all night, 
Keeps sounding on with terrible might, 
Keeps ringing its din in heedless ears — 
The same old song it hath sung for years. 

No rest for the waters ! Wild, bounding amain. 
They leap from the mountain o'erwhelming the plain 
They laugh at all barriers, victorious and free. 
Like an army they pass unrestrained to the sea. 

The tempest's loud note they utter, and now 
'Tis the whoop of the warrior that tramples his foe ; 
An anthem at morning they sound in their glee, 
A requiem at eve as they pass to the sea. 



143 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

[Head at the Dedioation of the Soldiers' Moiiumeut in Auburn, May 30, 1882. 



Bring flowers, fresh floweis, and strew their graves, 

They fell on many a field, 
Young patriots, who went forth to die. 

Their country's flag to shiekl. 

The l)looming spring, with l»ouuteous liand. 

By eveiy wayside spreads 
Her floral wealth. Weave garlands green, 

And deck their lowly beds. 

Survivors I who to arms with them 

Went forth at bugle call, — 
A\'^ho with them at the front nplield 

The dear old flag thro' all : 

Wlio bore them from the gor^' field 

Of battle's wild affray, — 
'Tis meet we join with you and bring 

These offerings here to-day : 

That fife and drum should sound again, 

And bayonets gleam once more 
In honor of the illustrious dead 

Who marched witli von before. 



144 MEMORIAL DAY. 

'Tis meet that from the quarry's bed, 
In life-like form should rise, 

The hero of the rank and file, 
Who made such sacrifice : 

That many a monumental stone 
Should bear his image high, 

Conspicuous o'er the land he saved, 
P^mblem of loyalty. 

A grateful country lifts her voice, 
Whose children while they share 

The blessings by the brave secured, 
Shall breathe perpetual prayer. 

And often as the spring-time comes. 
And strews with lavish hand 

Her treasures here, we'll strew these graves, 
Honored throuwhout the land. 



145 



DAVID BARKER. 

[Died at Bangor, September 15, 1874.] 



I oiil}' knew him by the strain 

He flung iit random from his lyre : 
Ambitious not for woi'ldly fame, 
He kept as 'twere a liidden flame 
His spark of the Promethean fire. 

I never read his glowing lines 

Without a curious wish to know^ 
How 'twas the lawyer's pen could trace, 
With humorous or pathetic grace, 
Such numbers as lie made to flow. 

In war's dark times, when patriot hearts 

W^ere forced sometimes a sigh to heave ; 
He struck his harp to notes of cheer, 
And sounded forth, high-toned and clear, 
His tribute to "■ Tiie Empty Sleeve." 

Some tribute to the bard is due. 

Who tribute to tlie soldier paid. 
And lielpcd with stirring song create, 
For country and for native State, 

High hopes and courage undismayed, 

10 



146 DAVID BARKER. 

How often, iu his jovial moods, 

He caught np novel themes and sung 

Spontaneous rhjnnes ! His ready wit 

Gave laughter the hysteric fit 

And gaunt dyspepsia's nerves unstrung. 

What if at times he stepped aside. 
Discarding all restraints and rules, 

And let his Muse indulge full free 

A frolic for his cronies glee. 

And called fastidious critics fools? 

Not less a genuine bard was he, 

Who stamped his impress on his lay : 
So true he touched the strings at times 
All hearts responded to his rhymes, 
And yielded to their magic sway. 

He joined not with the shouting crowd 

Who in the victor cur delight : 
But pour'd in quaint burlesque a strain 
Of pity for the dog in pain, — 

Despised and under in the fight : 

A deed for which, methinks, howe'er 

The shouting crowd may scoff and jeer. 
He hath won friends. With modest grace 
Upon the rolls he takes his place. 

And will be Ions remembered here. 



147 



IN MEMORIAM. 

[Lines written in October, 1S()8, on the death of Hon. T. A. D. Fessenilen, a 
member of this Bar, who died in Auburn, September iStli, of that year.] 



Full soon the summer months have fled. — 
The last brief summer months for him, 
Our friend and brother ! Who could tell 
That ere the summer's foliage fell, 

Should sound his mournful, funeral h^'ran ? 

And now the harvest days are sad, 

Too full of grief that must have way : 
And autumn's tinted mantle spread 
Seems as a shroud, — for he is dead, — 
Called hence, alas, ere life's noonda3\ 

In these accustomed daily walks 

No more will his familiar face 
And cordial, greeting hand be known ; 
And we shall miss the genial tone 

Of life in his accustomed place. 

How vain are words! What sympathy 
Can soothe the sorrows now luisealed? 

The heart its vigils lone must keej) : 

Its fitful slumbers are not sleep 

But restless yearnings unrevealed. 



148 IN MEMORIAM. 

Speak not of other days and hours, 

When morning time illumed the wa}' ; 
When manhood's strength and friendship's ties 
Proclaim'd a man whom we did prize, — 
All these have quickly passed away : 

And now the shadow and the gloom, 

The sudden dimness over all : 
A blank, where that bright beacon burned, 
To which the eyes of childhood turned 

With many a sweet and tender call. 

Time may, perchance, assuage the pain. 
But cannot heal the bleeding wound : 
Thro' months and years which are to come, 
The memories of the broken home 
Will cluster tearfully around ; 

And fair, young features which reveal 
The semblance of the father's face, 

Will speak of him as days go on. 

And bear his impress fixed upon 

And fashioned to sweet childhood's orace. 



149 



THE WOOD NYMPH. 



Away with your tales of the stormy, old sea ! 

That music that steals o'er the thuudering surge, 
Is nought but the voice of a demon's wild glee, 

As it blends with the wail of the mariner's dirge. 



Tell me not of your bright, coral grottoes that gleam 

Far down in the depths where the daylight's glad beam 

Illumines them not, — but the phosphoric glare 

Of bones that untimely lie bleaching there. 

Is the only, the dim, funereal light, 

That fitfully shines thro' the watery night. 

Say not that the mermaid all gracefully there 

Is decking with sea-shells her beautiful hair. 

Whose loose, flowing tresses drip wet with the spray, 

Or trail o'er the waves as she urges her wa}' : 

Say not that she sports 'midst the mazes of waters, 

And smiles to her sisters, the Neried daughters ; 

That she sleeps on the foam of the white-crested billow, 

As calm as an infant reposed on its pillow ; 

While the sailor boy gazes entranced with delight, 

Till awak'uing, she starts from her dream in affright. 

And turns on him nought but a love-qnelling frown, — 

So he weeps when the soul of his transport hath flown. 



150 THE WOOD NYMPH. 

I envy her not. The bright home of my joys 
Is not where the rage of the tempest annoys ; 
For the wild winds of ^ohis are awful to me 
As they howl in their frenzy out o'er the dark sea. 
I envy her not. Ah, she knows not the bliss 
Of a bower in the woodland so grateful as this, — 
Where the soft skies of summer are bending above, 
All mantled in beauty and radiant with love ; 
Where the music of waters steals soft on the ear. 
And the voices of songsters say gladness is here ; — 
Where the twilight descends on its dim, dusky pinions 
And broods like a dream o'er my fairy dominions. 
Till the murmurs of evening wax fainter around. 
And hush in the silence of midnight profound. 

Oh, I've a sweet bank by the cool fountain's bed. 
With its carpet of moss- woven daisies outspread. 
And above it the wild vines, embracing each other, 
Weave greenly the web of their foliage together ; 
Around it the wood flowers are daintily blowing. 
And beside it the bright, sparkling waters are flowing, - 
Here in sheltered seclusion, retired at noonday, 
I recline like a queen in some fairy display. 
Softly kissed by the breezes whose odorous wings 
Waft the incense of bloom till the nightingale sings. 
Here I hie unobserved when my pastime is over. 
And laugh at the wooings of my young elfin lover, — 
A rogue whom I tease till his courage is high. 
Then out of his sight in a twinkle I fly. 

And here, by the light of the sweet silver moon. 
With the Genius of Beauty I sometimes commune ; 
As revealed in the light of an angel of love, 
She descends thro' the blue fields of ether above, 



THE AVOOD NYMPH. 151 

More soft than a sylph of the twilight, to glide 

O'er the realms where the graces of Nature preside. 

Fair Hebe with cheeks of the rose is my guest. 

With the glory of childhood and iuuoecnee blest ; 

Aud the blue-eyed Eudymion, who, slumbering at night, 

Made the heart of Diana throb wild with delight. 

They come, — not creations of fable and dream. 

But living realities, fair as they seem : 

I welcome their coming aud bid them recline 

On my green, mossy bank 'neath the clambering vine, 

While stars thro' the foliage j)eep down from on high, 

And the belted Orion tlames bright in the sky. 



But not to the woodlands alone am I l)ound : 

The green, spreading meadows aud streamlets around, 

The lawns and the uplands, the glens and the groves, 

Are scenes where my spirit exultingly roves. 

I am forth at the dawn ere the twilight doth pale. — 

When the blushing Aurora her charms doth unveil, 

And the gates of the morning swiug open, and day 

With its chariot of sunbeams proceeds on its way. 

At noontide I glide to the skirt of the w^ood ; 

A moment I stand where the husbandman stood, 

And I note all his movements, tho' never does he 

Catch a glimpse, in his wandering vision, of me. 

I glance at the cottager's little ones at play 

Seen far thro' the trees in the distance away. 

And I smile at their frolics as jocund and light 

As the gambols of fairies at midsummer night. 

I trace to its source the meandering rill ; 

1 pause on the brow of the neighboring hill. 

And watch till the day god doth close his career, 

And his bainiers of crimson aud gold disappear. 



152 THE WOOD NYMPH. 

The world hath a sphere close by dwellings of men, 
Which none but the spirits immortal can l<eii, — 
A fairy bright realm, widely peopled, which seems 
To the senses of mortals a net-work of dreams. 
In that region we dwell, and are never revealed 
Save to fancy's bright eye with its vision unsealed : 
There we troop with the dryads and throng at the shrine 
Of Nature, and worship our goddess divine. 



'Tis meet for us, then, at the stillness of eve 
A hymn to her praises in concert to weave ; 
As we sit all along where the clear waters lave, 
And the fringe of the willows droops over the wave. 

'Tis meet for us always, by moonlight and grove. 
To swell on the soft winds our anthems of glee, — 

Tho' a mystery to mortals, we live and we move 
Like the spirits of air unfettered and free. 



153 



SUMMER AND SUNSET. 



Alone amidst the hills ! 
Here have I wandered by the joyous rills, 

And caught the music sweet 
Of unseen harps which charm this lone retreat ; 

Here have I plucked the flower 
That blooms uncultured in its natural bower. 

And snuffed the odors rare 
That load with fragrance all the mountain air. 

I've rested l)y the pool. 
Where on my forehead breathed the west wind cool 

And by its margin green, 
Almost the sporting fairies liave 1 seen. 

Plying their mazy dance 
With nods and becks and laughing eyes askance. 

Then up the woodland reach 
My steps I've turned, beyond the groves of beech, 

Beyond the maple glades, 
That weave a twilight of their emerald shades. 

And pausing on the brow 
Of yonder highland, viewed the scene below ; 

Viewed thence the sleeping lake, 
Without a ripple save the barge's wake. 

To mar its gentle rest. 
Or fret the welkin pictured on its breast ; 

Viewed thence the giant wood, 
A remnant of the old primeval l)rood. 



154 SUMMER AND SUNSET. 

Whose oaks of hoary age, 
Staud yet unscathed, despite the winter's rage ; 

Beheld the farmer's pride 
Of waving grain fields on the green hill-side, 

And gardens in their bloom. 
And orchards bending with the pear and plum ; 

And seen the hamlet, too. 
Lapped in the valley where the stream winds thro', 

But heard not thence the hum 
Of busy life in echoing murmurs come : 

Hushed in the distant scene 
It lay, with steeple in the sunlight sheen. 

With church-yard just in sight, 
Whose marble grave-stones gleamed all snowy white ; 

With many a cottage lost 
In foliage thickening like the forest host ; 

With monarch elms on high, 
Stretching their green arms thro' the azure sky, 

Wide over peaceful homes. 
Across whose thresholds no intruder comes. 



And now the setting sun. 
Throned in the west, the goal of evening won. 

Seemed pausing to behold 
The world illumined by his beams of gold, 

A cortege of bright clouds 
Unfurled about his chariot course in crowds, 

Assumed fantastic shapes, 
And flung the drapery of their crimson capes 

Around each changing form. 
That glanced in light and waved its victor palm. 

Along the horizon's verge, 
I saw afar their glittering hosts emerge. 



SUMMER AND SUNSET. 155 

With pauoply and plume, 
And hauliers woven in the solar loom, 

And blazonry of gems, 
That flashed in brilliance from their burnished helms. 

In gleaming cohorts now 
Thro' shifting march, in mystic maze, they go; 

And ever as they change, 
Throughout the bright fields of their boundless range, 

Exulting arms they wave, 
And lift their banners buoyant as the brave, 

In homage to that orb. 
Whose beams of life rejoicing worlds absorb. 

But as the pageant fades, 
They roll their tleece-cloaks in the gathering shades. 

Undo their feathery wreaths, 
And pluck the finery from their gilded sheaths ; 

Folding them slow away. 
For now the twilight waits not on the day, 

But o'er the hills descends. 
And into dimness all their beauty blends. 



156 



POESY. 

Spirit of Nature, thou, 
Who hast thy dwelliug here, 
Amidst these walks of meu, 
Accessible to all ! 
Whose shrine is where the dark woods frowu 

When swathed in winter's gloom. 
Not less than midst the gorgeous haunts 
Of summer ! 

Spirit of Nature, thou. 
Mysterious power unseen, 

Unseen yet visible 
In myriad wondrous works ; 
In every life, in every change revealed ; 
As marvelous in the gathering shades 
Of each returning even. 
As in the radiant glories numberless. 
Which throng the night sky or unfold at morn ! 

Spirit, supreme o'er all, 

Intelligent and good ! 

Whose power alone it is 
To move the dull heart from its lethargy, 
And strike its chords in unison 
With all the quiring harps of nature, — 

How shall we learn of thee. 

How learn and learning live ! 

Not of ourselves is 't given 
To see the wondrous whole : 
Not of ourselves to pierce 



POESY. 157 

The mystic veil impenetrable, 
AVhieb, like ii cloud before the orient dawn, 

Hides from oiir fiiute view, 
The pure, bright essence of the Infinite. 

Yet Deity which is in all. 

Above, around, beneath ; 

Which holds and tempers all, — 
Hath so diffused its universal being, 
So touched with life created things, 

That e'en the frailest forms 

Of matter organized. 
Speak of the unseen Presence : 

While inert nature hath 
A yet more marvelous language, argument 

O'erridiug dreams of chance, 
And eloquence and anthemed harmonies, — 
Perpetual life song of a world. 
Which, aye, thro' all the details of 
Its vast and varied mechanism. 

Reveals the spirit impulse. 

Creation's marvelous book, 
Tho' oped to all, is by how few explored ! 
Its plainest lessons learned how meagerly ! 
Its deeper meaning, the mysterious lore 
Wherewith each glowing page is set, 

How seldom fathomed ! 

Earth, ocean, air, and sky, 
Illustrious brotherhood ! 
And you, ye ever-wandering orbs, 
Whose march is thro' the vague immensity ; 
Whose far-off music steals 
At times on gifted ears, 



158 POESY. 

And wakes within the human soul, 
Those glowing ecstasies that spring 
Not from an earthly measure ! 

Ye lakes and valleys wild, 
That slumber midst the forest hills 
In solitary loveliness. 
And never feel the boisterous breath of winter ! 

How beautiful are ye ! From out 
Your hushed retreats mysterious chimes I hear ; 
And from your coverts echo-thronged, 

Come moving melodies. 
Attuned by airy spi-ites that touch. 

When twilight broods around. 
The harp strings of the Avilderness. 

And you, ye mouutaius old, 
Stupendous, awful, grand ! 
Piled to the heavens, yet unbowed beneath 
The burden of your native majesty : 
Upon whose naked, hoary heads 
The desolating years have shed their snows, 
Their icy snows of age ; 
And midst whose dreary loneliness. 
Supremely throned, bald monarch of the waste, 

Gray solitude hath held his reign 
In unmolested grandeur from the first : — 
What marvelous power have ye 
To stir the musing soul ! 

And you, ye rocks, and cliffs, and crags, 
Tumultuous-born, upheaved from earth, 

And frowning o'er the sea : 
Against whose iron battlements 

The warring winds have waged 



POESY. 159 

Relentless strife, and the rude tempest raised 
His Titan arm in vain : 
How wonderful are ye ! Not mute 
And motionless, but living monitors, 

Ye stand ; and, voicefnl still with praise, 

Instinct with inspiration, 
Eloquent with breathing harmonies, 
Ye speak unto the poet's soul, — that soul 
Which owns nature its mother, 
Kindles at her voice and leaps 
Exulting to her arms, to catch 
The faintest accents of her whispered lore, — 

Ye speak unto the poet's soul, 
Stirring its inmost fountains with a sense 
Of all the l)eautiful and grand ; 
Till with life's l)()unding pulse elate, 
It bursts into its native utterance 
And pours itself in song. 

Genius of Poes}', then, 
Whose essence doth pervade 
All things that are, — who speakest from tlie stars, 
That nightly sentinel the sky : 
Whose voice is in the sea ; 
And from the lakes and valleys comes. 
And from the sylvan shades remote, 
Where wild birds make their homes ; 
Who soundest forth from solitary woods. 
From rocks and mountains and the lonely shore, 
Harmonious notes of minstrels}'. 
That reach the secret ear ; — 
The soul that 3'earns for thee. 
Need never ask where thou dost dwell, 
Nor how with bended knee 
To supplicate thine aid. 



160 POESY. 

Nature and thou are oue : 
The legeuds of old classic lore, 
Which made Paruassus' misty height 
Home of the Muses nine ; 
Or with the tuneful choir 
Peopled the groves of Helicon, 
And told of fountains whose inspiring drafts 
Could wake to life the old, heroic strains. 
Or prompt such glowing lays 
As burning Sappho sung, — 
Tho' beautiful, were vain : 
For not the Grecian mountains old, 
Nor all the sacred groves and founts 
Of that immortal land, 
Could compass thy domain : — 
The universe was thine. 

Upon 3'on fleecy clouds 
That sweep the sky, thy chariot moves serene 
Thou 't heard in every passing breeze. 

E'en in the zephyr's sigh : 
Seen always 'midst the joyous hills. 

And found by every stream. 
That courses 'neath the pendent boughs 
Of summer. 

The soul that yearns for thee. 
Has but to hold its silent intercourse 

Apart in Nature's temple. 

To gain the wished-for boon. 

The eye is there unsealed ; 
Slumber's lethargic spell is broken, 
And the glad heart, to truer life awakened, 
Drinks in the thrilling symphonies 

Of myriad lyres unseen. 
All touched to one accordant minstrelsy. 

E'en by the Master hand. 



161 



THE PEARL OF MARANOCOOK. 



[It is withiu the remcmbraiK'c of many persons now livinfr that remnants of 
the aboriginal tribes who formerly peopled New Enjfland, were aceustoined to 
visit, from time to time, certain localities in tliis State, usually selecting: for tlicir 
encampment some retiretl and secluded spot on the borders of our romantic 
lakes, and oftentimes remaining for months, pursuing tlieir original avocations 
and preserving to a large extent their primitive modes of life. The interest 
and curiosity awakened among the younger portion of the community, in the 
days of our boyhood, by the advent of such visitors to the shores, or neighbor- 
ing highlands, of Lake Maranocook are vividly retained in memory. And 
allhougli as a rule tlie specimens of the race seen there on such occasions were 
not the best modeled types of humanity, yet tliere were oc. asioual exceptions, 
which, for native grace and beauty, might challenge the admiration of our best 
schools of taste and refinement. The picture attempted to be drawn in this 
poem, though for the most part imaginary, had its first suggestion in Impressions 
received on a boyish excursion to the Indian encampment near that now well- 
known and picturesque sheet of water, wliicli recent enterprise has made so 
attractive and christened with its Indian name, IMaranocook.J 



Tell me the secret of that power, 
Beatity that rules the wide world o'er? 
Is it of teeming fancy bred. 
Whim of the heart or of the head? 
Say how developed, how combined ; 
Whence is its magic touch refined 
That holds the eye and steals the heart 
As if l)y talismanic art? 
No studied skill unfolds the tlower. — 
Pray, tell inc whence is Beauty's })ower I 

What tho' a daughter of the wood. 
•Born of the twiliglit dusk3'-hued. — 
Without the azure-tinted eye 
With which the light-haired Itlonde m:iy vie ; 
11 



162 THE PEARL OF MARANOCOOK. 

Disclosing on lier cheek the tawn 
Whereof the wild deer's young are born, 
Save softened to that paler tinge 
With which the curtained eve doth fringe 
The daylight when the setting sun 
Down o'er the western hill hath gone I 

I saw her by the margin stand 
Of her own native lake, — a strand 
Where yet the pale-faced pioneer 
Had entered not on his career, 
But all of natural mould was free 
And wildly beautiful as she. 
Was it the dreamy light and shade 
Of romance to my eye portrayed? 
Some fickle, fairy sprite that roved 
The earth or air, my fancy moved ? 
Some gypsy maid Avho wrought a spell 
Of glamour potent to compel 
Spontaneous homage, ere a word 
Or accent from the tongue were heard ? 

Methought, — what wonder? — as I viewed 
Her presence by the skirting wood. 
That never yet did chisel trace 
A figure of symmetric grace 
Where rounded arm and neck and waist 
Were fashioned to a purer taste : 
That never yet did form combine 
In earthly mould so much divine. 
Rather that one of earth she seemed 
Some bright ideal I had dreamed 
When reading of the graces given 
To houries in the Moslem heaven. 



THE PEARL OF MARANOCOOK. 163 

But talk not of the sculptor's art, 
Nor yet of dreams. Dreams but impart 
False eoloriug to fictitious gems, 
Which life's more earnest sense condemns. 
Talk rather of the young gazelle 
Within its own wild mountain dell ; 
Talk of the birds on joyous wing, 
That make the forest echoes ring ; 
Name all the varied beauties seen 
AVhere nature undisturbed hath been, 
But leave to grace some other theme 
The Parian stone and poet's dream. 

Such was the tj'pe of life displayed 
AYithin the dark-eyed Indian maid. 
As on the lake's romantic shore 
Her wealth of simple grace she bore, — 
A grace which nature scarcel}' gave 
The full-blown lily on the wave. 
Tall and erect, she stood serene, 
Slender of form, yet in her mien 
Revealing that true, natural charm. 
That cast of feature, neck, and arm, 
Which did the eye of fancy fill 
And almost shamed the artist's skill. 
8he stood as stands young forest tive. 
Most comely on its native lea. — 
Arouud whose stock and branches twine 
The tendrils of the trailing vine 
In many a graceful curve and turn. 
As dainty as the maiden-fern. 
Like some co}' daughter of the morn, 
Walking the hill-side slopes at dawn, 
And child-like pausing oft to greet. 
The views where woods and waters meet ; 



164 THE PEARL OF MARANOCOOK. 

Turning unveiled her frequent gaze 
Full to the morn's unclouded blaze, — 
She moved, — herself a morning beam. 
As joyous as the mountain stream ; 
A peerless picture painted there 
Of radiant life, surpassing fair. 

No fairer landscape greets the sight : 
No lovelier lake with waters bright 
Mirrors the wide, surrounding scene 
Of wooded hills and meadows green. 
Blending all charms to please the eye. 
None paints with deeper blue the sky, 
Or turns more graceful to the view 
The ripple of the light canoe. 
What wonder that the maiden there 
Caught many a charm from scene so fair, 
And many a charm returned as she 
The mountain pathway threaded free, 
Her locks of ebon, loose, undone, 
Her dark eye flashing to the sun. 
Her dusky face reflecting bright 
The glowing soul's untaught delight? 
Methought the radiance of her smile 
Enough to charm the forest aisle. 
Investing lake and wood and vale 
With romance like Arabian tale. 

What if the bright sun's fervid glance 
O'er her young bosom's free expanse. 
O'er beaded neck and hoodless brow, 
Had poured its full, its ardent glow. 
And tinged to deeper dusk the hue 
Which first her virgin features knew? 



THE PEARL OF MARANOCOOK. 165 

Not less the Indian maiden seemed 
To wear each grace, each charm redeemed. 
Ye might have thonght a gem so fair 
Was strangely set to glisten there. 
Have deemed her an exotic here, 
A creature of some brighter sphere, 
Nurtured in some far, tropic isle 
Where summer skies incessant smile 
And 'neath the palms and orange boughs 
Her wealth of beauty Nature shows. 



Strange, — that the forest depths sliould be 
Meet home for her so young and free ; 
That pathways devious, which but led 
Where fleet the Indian hunter sped. 
Or where the young-eyed, playful fawn 
Springs lightly forth to greet the dawn. 
Should hold in their retired retreats 
A bloom which Nature rare repeats ! 
How was it that the forest wild 
Won to itself so fair a eliild? 
What magic had the woodland glens 
Whose deeper haunts the red man kens, 
What magic the wild lakes and streams 
Beside whose waves the camp fire gleams, 
To tempt Dame Nature's cunning skill 
Her daintiest work there to fulfill? 



Ah, if the light of beauty's eye 
Is brilliant where gay banners fly. 
And pageantry of pomp and power 
Illustrious rules the golden houi-, — 



166 THE PEARL OP MARANOCOOK. 

And if the dreamy sylphs of air 
That flaunt the halls of splendor where 
Exulting mirth and music sweet 
Lead ou the maze of twinkling feet, 
And lustrous eyes responsive glance, 
And joy whirls giddy in the dance, — 
Are beauteous to the gay world's gaze 
And first receive its meed of praise ; 
Yet far removed from scenes like these, 
Whose burnished wealth and splendor please^ 
Dwell types of beauty meet to claim 
A record on the lists of fame. 



Not in the heart or in the head 

Is beauty's heau ideal bred : 

The perfect art which bears the palm 

For native grace and native charm. 

And readiest homage doth command, 

Is found alone in Nature's hand. 



167 



MY VOLUME OF BURNS. 

A POEM FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE POETS' BIRTH- 
DAY. 

Sometimes at close of hard day's work, 
Beset with cares I caunot shirk, 
Depressed, bewildered, giving veut 
To bootless spleen aud discontent ; 

I wander home unsettled quite, — 
A curtain like the murky night 
Hangs o'er my soul, aud yet I know 
My sky should not be clouded so. 

A voice within me whispers then. 
Lift up thy heart like other men, 
And let the home light's cosy cheer 
Shine in. What boots depression here? 

I share the clean-spread, evening board, 
* For me the genial cup is poured, 

I smile — aha, that genial cup 
Hath waked my better nature up. 

O blest nepenthe ! Light within. 
A rainbow where the cloud hath been 1 
Lo, I have friends, — my life-blood starts 
Responsive to their throbbing hearts. 

Eare friends whose love and sympathy 
Flowed out for dear humanity : 
Living tho' dead,— ay, standing there, 
Companions by my evening chair. 



168 MY VOLUME OF BUKNS. 

Old Spenser, Moore, Scott, Milton, Keats, 
Shakespeare, whose verse the world repeats, — 
I prize them all ; but iny heart turns 
Most lovingly to Robert Burns, 

Whose pleasant face smiles from the shelf 
On that rare volume, all himself ; 
Rich treasury of the heart's own songs, 
Which to the world at large belongs. 

Not Scotland's heathery banks and braes 
Could circumscribe her poet's lays ; 
Nor can her sons exclusive claim 
The heritage of his great name. 

His magic strains have found their way 
Where'er the Muse hath power to sway. 
And moved with sympathetic glee 
The great heart of humanity. 

I ope and read that charming lay, 
Night of the cotter's Saturday ; 
And hear the good man's prayer ascend 
To Him, Protector, Father, Friend. 

I share the poet's tender love 
For Mary's soul in Heaven above ; 
And almost feel his grief my own. 
So touchingly his heart makes moan. 

I see the modest, crimson flower 
That met him in the " evil hour," 
Crushed by the plowshare, and I feel 
The beauty of his sweet appeal. 



MY VOLUME OF BURNS. 160 

And now before ni}' ver}' e3'es 
The panic-stricken mousie hies. 
As, crash, into his " wee bit " home 
The coulter brings relentless doom. 

If I would hiugh, why, then, instante'r, 
I turn to jolly Tarn O'Shanter, 
The brick, who all the sage advices 
Of a good wife derides, despises : 

And while the hapless woman worries 
Off on a bender straight he hurries. 
And sprees it late, till tempests lower 
And brimstone scents the midnight hour. 

I see hiiri homeward draw the rein 
On frightened Mag, with anxious strain, 
Giving full many a livelj' jerk 
As now he nears the haunted kirk. 

Where, by the lightning's sudden glance 
Revealed, the witches' jig and dance ; 
Led on by Nan, the cutty sark, 
Thro' reels, mysterious, strange, and dark. 

I see him pause to sp}' the fun, 
I hear his lusty shout, " weel done ! " 
When, presto ! it is dark as soot, — 
And out the}' rush in swift pursuit. 

The bold in wassail, where is now 
The pluck he ne'er would disavow? 
They'll have him by the lightning's gleam. 
Ere he can pass the running stream. 



170 MY VOLUME OF BURNS. 

Right brisk tlie race for life begins ; 
Slim chauce for Tam, whose many sins 
Weigh hard on him and Maggie, too, 
Pursued by such a hellish crew. 

They clutch at Tam who dodges, pale, 
They grab for Maggie's switching tail. 
They scatter brimstone, — Nan, the hag, 
A special vengeance has for Mag. 

for the key-stone o' the bridge ! 
Three leaps and Mag will clear the ridge 
And pass triumphant o'er the water, 
And save a hapless soul from slaughter. 

But hold your senses ! Who can tell 
What chances in a, moment dwell, 
Or why when pluck bids fair to win, 
Old Nick should ofttimes claw us in? 

Whisk o'er the key-stone ! Hey ! But, lo^ 
One swoop and the remorseless foe. 
Takes off with grappling claw and nail, 
All that could switch o' Maggie's tail ; 

And with the trophy off they skelp, — 
Tam cursing loud both hag and whelp. 
And moaning Maggie's untoward fate, 
Crossing the stream a moment late. 

Ah, many moments late for Tam ! 
The wife's advice was not a sham. 
Foul luck betides his evil ways. 
He'll smell o' brimstone all his days \ 



MY VOLUME OF BURNS. 171 

While Maggie, iu dismembered plight, 
A melancholy, shocking sight, 
Shall never more when fiends assail, 
Shake at the foe a wrathful tail. 

I close the volume — but mine ear 

Is ringing with an accent clear. 

And to my heart full oft returns 

Thy glowing line, — sAveet Robert Burns. 

And whilst the days and years go on, 
Tho' much be lost and little won, 
I'll thank thee for the hours made bright 
With songs which thou hast sung aright ; 

For melody, and wit, and glee. 
The charm of thy rare minstrelsy ; 
And tender words of love and cheer, 
Which human hearts delight to hear. 

ril thank thee for thy bonnie gems, 
Sweet flowerets on their native stems, 
Sprung from the soil, and therefore prized, — 
Life's tears and smiles immortalized. 

Lays which thy vision ed C'oila made 
Thy special care, when soft she laid 
Her hand upon thy forehead fair, 
And gently bound the holly there ; 

Charging thou ne'er should turn aside 
From these the pathways thou hadst tried. 
Foreshadowing thine the l)rilliant fame 
That keeps a gifted poet's name. 



172 



YESTER-NIGHT. 

[The mysterious connection tietweeu mind and matter is a problem no 
nearer solution now than before its investigation was first attempted by meta- 
physicians. We may trace the influences of man's mental and physical organ- 
izations upon each other, and find abundant evidence of the intimate relations 
which exist between the two, and of the wonderful sensitiveness with which, 
under certain circumstances, the one receives impressions from the other: but 
how these effects are produced must always remain an inquiry which our 
limited intelligence cannot answer. 

The following poem owes its original conception, in part, to a personal 
experience. It is not altogether a fiction in the sense in which ordinary work 
of the imagination is a fiction. But while it finds no counterpart in reality, it is 
nevertheless a reflection of those strange associations which sometimes pass 
through the mind, in the crises of acute diseases, when the physical organs 
are disturbed and fail to perform their normal functions, and the governing 
powers of consciousness and volition lose control. Something kindred to this 
may, at times, have fallen within the experience of many individuals. Such 
vagaries are not, however, an inviting subject for poetical composition, nor 
even an attractive theme to contemplate. They are apt to assume too much the 
character of a phantasm, and like the visions of the opium eater, rule the 
mind with relentless energy, administering quite as frequently to painful as 
pleasurable emotions. The poem was written many years ago and is, perhaps, 
ill-adapted to this or any other publication. It is, nevertheless, among the 
papers, which fact must explain the reason for its appearance here.] 



Yester-niglit, methought, the moonlight 
Gave a strange, unnatural glow 

To the tomlistones in the church-yard 

And the grave mounds white wnth snow. 

And a presence from the dimness 

Met me hurriedl}' and said : 
" "Wanderer in the cold, gray midnight, 

Go not near the sleeping dead." 

Then from many voices came there 

Suddenly a sound of wail, 
And the forms of some familiar 

Crossed my pathway, ashy pale. 



YESTER-NIGHT. 173 

Oh, methought, how changed their features I 

Visages so overcast. 
And their strange transfiguration, 

Made me slnidder as they passed. 

One there was who as she liastened 

Turned a passing glance on nie, 
AVaved a sliadowy hand, and straightway 

Vanished into mystery. 

Disappointment, anxious longing, 

Doubt and fear my soul oppressed ; 

And there came a sense of trouble 
And a burden of unrest. 

But I strove to quell the anguish, 

And the fear to lay aside ; — 
Hoping still some blessed unction 

Of relief would soon betide. 

For the precious balm of healing 

Is a blessing unalloyed 
To the brain oppressed, bewildered, 

Tortured by the fierce typhoid ; 

And the gentle power of slumber, 

Sent from heaven to soothe our woes, 

O'er the waters of our trouble 
Poureth oil of sweet repose. 

Here with something o€ composure 

I regained, methought, at length 
My self-possession, — yet was wakeful, 

Wearv, faint, and lacking strength. 



174 YESTER-NIGHT. 

Still my heart yearned for deliverance 
From tliat demon whose control 

Cast snch shadow o'er my vision, 
Laid such burden on my soul. 

Long I watched intentl}' listening, 

Till the dim, uncertain light 
Waned, methought, and all was shrouded 

In the mystery of the night. 

Presently the plaintive murmurs 

Of a distant, tolling bell 
Rose upon the night air, sounding 

Sad as maiden's funeral knell. 

Then a strain of low, sweet music 
Came and died upon mine ear : — 

Nothing else disturbed the stillness, 
Not a living wight was near. 

I was marveling much and doubtful 

What the sequel yet might be, 
Pondering many a vague conjecture 

What mine eyes were next to see ; 

When an ever-wakeful night bird 

Shrieked, methought, from out a wood, 

And the ominous cry did startle 
E'en the night-born solitude. 

" Heavens ! " I ctied, " What fearful meaning 
Hath this wild bird's dismal scream, 

Breaking thus upon the midnight 
Like the nightmare in a dream ? 



YESTER-NIGHT. 175 

*' Cometh doom and retribution, 

Hei'alded at such au hour 
By this hoarse and hideous outcry, 

Signal of an evil i)Ower?" 

Not a voice my (luery answered : 

All again was hushed and still , 
But a fearful apprehension. 

As of some foreboded ill, 

Came with feverish treml)liiigs o'er me. 

And the cold sweat on my lirow 
Gathered like the frosts of winter, 

When the sun sets cold and low. 

Night at length did wane, and morning 

Walked the hill-tops of the east : 
But the pale moon still ke[)t watching, 

Sank not witli the stars to rest. 

As the day toiled slowly upward. 

All its glories seemed to fade : 
Lurid sunlight, pallid moonlight. 

But a dismal twilight made. 

Change was on the face of. nature ; 

And the far hills' distant range, 
And more near the haunts familiar 

Wore an aspect deathl}' strange. 

Men were forth in streets and by-ways 

Terror-stricken and dismayed, 
Fearful even of each other. 

Groping loiu'ly and afraid. 



176 YESTEK-NIGHT. 

One, an old man, faint and weary, 

By a little child led on, 
Dropped, as of a sudden palsy, 

Died and left the child alone. 

All alone, bereaved, bewildered, 

None to speak to, none to hear, — 

" O, thou pitying God ! " I faltered, 
" Stretch thine arm of mercy near." 

Then a mother hurrying frantic, 
With her infant in her arms. 

Called aloud on heaven to shield her 
From unknown and nameless harms. 

He, the father, on whose strong arm, 
Trustful she was wont to lean, 

Lurked afar, in cold estrangement, 
Wore a wild, unearthly mien. 

Sweet hope and trust and sympathy. 
Love that bids the tear to start, 

No token gave. No kindly impulse 
Spake within the human heart. 

Even the beasts of earth and wild birds 
Caught the panic fright full soon ; 

From kenneled sleep awoke the watch-dog 
And behowled the spectral moon. 

Dismal wails and piercing outcries 
Heard I then ring through the air, 

As if frenzied fiends were scourging 
All the victims of despair. 



YESTER-NIGHT. 17' 

H0I3' Heaveu ! I scarce could murniiu' 
E'en the semblance of a prater. — 

Heaven, methought, had given us over 
Without \varnin<i' to prepare. 

In that wild and strange confusion, 

In tlie darkness gathering there. 
Listening, fearful, heard 1 uttered 

Loud the startling word : Prepare ! 

Thrice a voice above the tumult. 

Like the midnight thunder's boom. 

Gave, methought. the dreadful summons, 
Sounded forth the word of doom. 

Earth nnd ocean's deep foundations. 

Seemed it then, were giving way ; 
Yawned a chasm like an earthcjuake's 

And the mountains were its prey. 

And the rush of mighty waters 

Came with overwhelming power. — 

Ruin, waste, and desolation, 

Night and darkness had their houi . 

Blind and palsied by the horrors 

Of that fearful scene I stood. 
Dazed, senseless, — on some scant foot-hold 

Keached not by the rolling Hood : 

On some fragment of an island. 

Where, in seething malstrom wiiirled, 
Wide around were dashed the remnants 

Of a lost and shipwrecked world. 



178 YESTER-NIGHT. 

Passed the crisis : soon subsided 
The wild tumult, aud no moi'e 

Rang the bootless cries of anguish. 
Mingled with the tempest's roar. 

But the silence that succeeded 

Brought no rest unto my soul, — 

O'er my couch the fever demon 
Still asserted his control. 

Still with grasp of iron held me, 
Yielding scarce a respite now 

From the visions which had torn me, 
Crushed me with their fearful show. 

Here the low voice of the watcher 
Sought to soothe my sense of fear. 

And a soft hand on my forehead 

AViped the cold drops standing there 

And my incoherent fancies 

Ceased their dismal march awhile. 

And the pitying heart beside me 
With a dear hope dared to smile. 

Calmer grew my troubled spirit, 
And a spell of natnral sleep 

Came and sealed awhile my senses. 
And its mastery seemed to keep 

In check th' oppressed brain's tendency 
To drift into that shoreless sea, — 

Passing once whose gloomy confines, 
All is doubt and myster3^ 



YESTER-NIGHT. 179 

When from that sweet space of sluinlter 

I awakened, lo ! the sun. 
Beaming with his morning splendor. 
Had a l)ettcr day begun. 

And mv lieart drank in the ghidness 

Of the l)lesst'd nioi'uing light, 
Gleaming on the crystal hill-tops, 

And the snowy landscape bright. 

I had passed from out that dimness : 

But those shadows on my soul 
Traced a tablet, and the vision 

Haunts me spite all self-control. 



181 



CENTENNIAL POEM. 

[Read at Wintln-op, Me., May 20, 1871, on the occasion of the celebration of 
the one hundredth anniversary of the incorporation and organization of tlie 
town.] 



One hundred years ago I Shall I presume 

To wander backward through a century's gloom, 

With h're unstrung, unskilled to gain renown. 

And sing the birthday of this good old town? 

Shall I essay, with laboring verse, to tell 

Historic tales of what our sires befell 

In those old days, when Pond Town was a wild 

Where men like hermits lived, nor woman smiled ; 

Those old, colonial days, when George the Third 

Ruled all the land with his puissant sword, 

And sought to force oppression's galling yoke 

On subjects loyal, till their souls awoke 

With sense of wrongs too grievous to be borne. 

And spurned the sceptered monarch on his throne? 

Is such a theme the theme for me to choose ; 
And will the Muses ni}' dull heart infuse 
With life and fire, so I may strike some chord 
That shall a fitting harmony afford ; 
So 1 may wake some echo of a strain. 
Though brief and faint, perchance not all in vain ; 
Nor feel o'erwhelined lest my unfinished task 
Should need indulgence more than I can ask? 
Kind friends, forgive, and stray with me along. 
Nor turn at this, the prelude of the song. 



182 CENTENNIAL POEM. 

One hundred years ago, this very day, 
The first town-meeting (so the records say) 
Was held at an innholder's house, which means 
Not what some college hoys, with roguish spleens, 
Might half surmise, a place where all within 
Are held by one without who holds them in ; 
But simply that the meeting was convened 
At an old tavern stand wherein was weaned 
' The infant town, then christened, named anew. 
And clothed with corporate powers with much ado. 
On that great day,— anvio urhis conditcB, — 
No doubt the landlord did his bounden duty. 
And furnished freely all the needful aid. 
To have that corner-stone most fitly laid. 
Perhaps a bumper crowned the festive board, 
Perhaps with merriment the table roared ; 
For in those times the keeper of an inn 
Most always kept a little " smile" within. 
No doubt the yoeman did good service, too. 
And put the thing magnificently through ; 
Chose selectmen and constable and clerk. 
And all officials, setting them at work 
With busy hands, to make the new-made town 
A little jewel in King George's crown ; 
For in his Majesty's ungracious name. 
The warrant issued, and the people came. 

Thus organized and fairly under way. 
Our little ship of State set sail that day 
With much of pride and more of future hope. 
To brave the storms and with the billows cope. 
One plucky man, who from New Ipswich came 
Some years before, — John Chandler was his narae,- 
Held by conditional grant, as it would seem. 
Hundreds of acres near the old mill stream. 



CENTENNIAL POEM. 183 

And made his title good by building mills. 
This led to opening roads amongst the hills, 
Giving the outside settlers chance to come 
And cart their loads of meal and lumber home. 
And there were other names worth}' of note, 
Conspicuous, mighty, in those times remote, 
Emblazoned on the records, sending down 
Leaven enough to leaven half the town : 
Foster, Fairbanks, Stevens, Pulleu and Howe, 
Whiting, Brainard, Stanley, and Bishop, too ; 
Cognomens which in poetry work in 
Most musical, — as prett}' as a pin. 
I cannot mention all — suffice to say 
The}' were illustrious in that ancient day, 
And for the town did much. — did more, say some, 
Than Ronuilus and Remus did lor Rome. 

Otlier town-meetings followed at the inn ; 

In which the freeholders did now begin 

To act on matters, some of grave import. 

Discussed and passed as in the general court. 

Grave-yards were purchased, and iiighways improved ; 

Bridges were built, and obstacles removed, 

Until the river towns bev'ond the streams 

Could now be reached by teamsters with their teams. 

Groceries were started, and West India goods 

Toiled slowly in through miles of dreary woods. 

The heavy wagon creaking 'neath its load. 

The jaded oxen careless of the goad, 

The weary teamster stopping now and then 

To quench his thirst, then shout '* gee up," again. 

Improvements still advanced, the woods gave way 

To waving grain-lields and the reaper's sway ; 

And the l)road acres, newly-cleared and burned. 

Abundant harvests for the toil returned. 



184 CENTENNIAL POEM. 

They voted money, — pounds and shillings, pence, 
In those old da^'s to pay the town's expense ; 
They levied taxes on the estates and polls, 
Which were collected like the millers tolls ; 
The}^ ordered men into the box by three's, 
To serve as jurors in the Common Pleas : 
They favored learning and established schools. 
Warned out of town all stragglers, idlers, fools. 
Expurgating the trash like tares from wheat, 
Reserving only so much as was meet 
For this good town, whose honored name should be 
A synonym for good society. 
Religion, too, found early footing here ; 
Preaching was hired eight Sabbaths in a 3'ear, 
And twenty pounds were raised to pay the bills 
Ere yet a meeting-house stood on its sills. 
And they were careful, too, what men they hired 
To preach the gospel from the word inspired, 
And sometimes voted that they only would 
Hire those whose moral character was good. 

The history of the town hath once been writ ; 

Much there that's told of course we here omit ; 

Yet one or two good things therein set forth 

A moment's rhyme we think are richlv worth, — 

For instance this, illustrative of manners 

AVheu men wore homespun, women used bandannas. 

A Mr. F. once pillioned his old horse 

And started off ('twas then a thing of course) 

And asked a visit from a Mrs. Wood. 

Quoth she : " I'd go 'n a moment if I could, 

But I'm a kneading bread which I must bake." 

" If that is all," quoth Mr. F., " Fll make 

The pathway clear. Just take 3'our kneading-trough 

And jump upon my nag and we'll be off." 



CENTENNIAL POEM. 185 

No soouer said than doue. Both ou the beast 
With tvough and bread, a funu\' jag at least. 
Went trotting back to house of Mr. F., 
Where they arrived bnt little out of l)reath. 
He built a fire, she baked her batch of bread, 
She spent the da3% at night went home to bed 
Same style, — riding as g:iily on the pillion 
As modern girls would danee a brisk cotillion. 

A certain tiddler, most presumptuous grown, 
Once pitched his tent without permit, in town. 
The good folks rallied, but ne'er raised a rout : 
In a most legal way they warned him out. 
The constable, whose christian name was Squier 
And surname Bishop, loosed, 'tis said, his ire 
And in a rage e'en warned him off God's earth. 
Whereat the fiddler trembled at his wrath. 
And asking where to go, was answered plain : 
" Why go, you stupid fool, go out to Wayne." 

One most consummate nuisance in those da3's 
Was Dr. Gardiner's dam, with no fish waj's, 
Down at the mouth of Cobb'see Coute stream, — 
A source of trouble which got up great steam ; 
For the old settlers they were fond of fish, 
And half sulisisted on that Iirain-food dish : 
But Dr. Gardiner's dam l)uilt tight and high 
Embargoed all llu' lisli from passing by, 
Spoiling the up-stream fishermen's delights. 
Infringing, too, the fishes' vested rights. 
Wronging both ukmi and fish. — a twofold grief 
Which called for some promi)t action for relief. 
What should bi' done? Ah, Dr. G., take heed. 
You'll catch it now for vour unfiiendlv deed I 



186 CENTENNIAL POEM. 

They called a new town-meeting and let off 
At first a protest, like a gentle cough 
Before a sneeze, choosing a board of three 
To coax a fish way out of Doctor G. 
Coaxing was vain : The Doctor, he said no ; 
No fish around or through his dam should go. 
Whereat the settlers fired a louder gun, 
Remonstrating and threatening l)oth in one. 
Here was a casus belli, cause of war 
More palpable than Greek and Trojan saw. 
They did not fight to right this double wrong- 
But fired full many a protest loud and strong, 
And boldly voted, — choosing every year 
A fresh committee to present more clear 
Their grievances against that stubborn dam. 
Which locked the stream where once good fishes swam. 
Alack a day ! Not ten, long, voting years. 
With double-shotted protests barbed like spears. 
Availed them aught. That dam it would not down ; 
So finally, — they let the thing alone. 

But, hark ! There is a tumult in the land. 
And a more serious conflict now at hand, 
A conflict not of merely local strife. 
But one in which a peoi)le strike for life. 
England, harsh mother, from her sea-girt isle, 
Bloated with wealth of many lauds the spoil, 
Drunken with power — proud mistress of the sea. 
Lays heavy tribute by her stern decree 
On all the provinces throughout the land ; 
Their voice in council hushed by her command, 
Their sacred, chartered rights all cloven down, 
Their ministers spurned even from the throne, 
The people, helpless, crying for redress. 
The monarch laushina; at their vain distress. 



CENTENNIAL POEM. 187 

Ah, there were murmurnios gathering wide and far, 

And stern resolves for justice, else for war. 

A voice from old Mrginia loyal then, 

Electrified the hearts of living men 

With words of fire, till flew on every breath 

The clarion war-crj' : " Liberty or death ! " 

And where was AViuthrop on that trying day? 

Did she not arm in earnest for the fray? 

Ay, this old township heard the trumpet call 

And sent her sons to conquer or to fall. 

Those were the times that tried men's souls. Alas I 

Should her young sons the dread ordeal pass, 

And come again to these their hill-side homes 

To spend their days and find their burial tombs? 

Heaven only knew what was in store for them. 

Who speeds the right will sure the wrong condemn ! 

Prompt at their country's call a score went forth 

To the provincial army of the North 

Then mustering at old Cambridge, marshaling 

To meet the red-coat squadrons of the King. 

The blood that flowed from many a mortal wound 

At Lexington lay fresh upon the ground. 

And the raw infantry were on the drill 

P'or their grand charge at glorious Bunker Ilill. 

But this is history, — and I need not tell 

A tale which every school-bo}' knows full well. 

Only the part this patriotic town 

Took in the contest should be written down. 

And houoraiile mention made of those 

Who joined the ranks against the countrj^'s foes. 

But few returned to tiiese new iioines to dwell : 

Some died of hardship, — some iu battle fell. 

And some who privateered came back from sea 

To share the blessings of a countrv free. 



188 CENTENNIAL POEM. 

We must not loiter longer on the way 

To tell what happened in the olden day. 

Let us unfurl our light sails to the breeze, 

And like a good ship o'er the laughing seas, 

Glide onward through the lapse of rolling years. 

A wayward pilot is the Muse, who steers 

Sometimes a devious course, — too prone to dash 

The craft on breakers with a fearful crash. 

Making appalling shipwreck. Let us try 

And pass the dangerous breakers safel}^ by, 

Bringing our good ship to the otiing now 

Of later days, — a port which we do know. 

Lo, here we come with all our canvas free ! 

The gleaming beacons on the strand we see. 

The old, familiar shores, the rocks, the hills. 

The emerald fields, sweet lakes and streams and rills, 

A thousand scenes in memory treasured well. 

Crowd into view with many a tale to tell. 

Dear native town ! May I not bring to thee 
A passing tribute, slight howe'er it be. 
Some little word, a token fondl}^ laid 
LTpon the altar where our childhood played ; 
And where a musing fancy loved to roam. 
Enraptured with the beautiful at home? 
Ma}' I not pause one moment to renew 
The dear delights which laughing boyhood knew. 
Here where the hills hold in their sweet embrace 
So many a lakelet, touched with native grace ; 
Here where the woods in spring-time were so green. 
And all the landscape seemed a fairy scene ; 
Here where we wandered, truants from the school. 
And penance paid for many a broken rule, — 
Loving the freedom of the woodlands more 
Than all the tasks the teacher had in store. 



CENTENNIAL POEM. 189 

And willing martyrs to the rod, if we 

Could thus atoue for this our truant glee ? 

Was it the weakness of a boyish heart 

To deem no other scenes could e'er impart 

Such wealth of happiness as seemed to eoine 

In those long tramps through woods and fields at home ; 

To dote on every nook and pathway where 

The wild tlowers bloomed and fragrance filled the air ; 

To love each hill-top on whose magic lieiglit 

Our roving footsteps climbed with new delight. 

Till our ,young hearts leaped up with blissful l)oiiud 

At all the [tictured loveliness around ; 

To sigh for these dear scenes when forced away 

And homesick pine thro' many a weary day, 

Returning often bag and baggage home 

When no one gave the kind permit to come ? 

Ay, call it weakness of a boyish heart ; 

It was a yeai'niug which would ne'er depart 

With boyhood's years, — a fondness which would cling 

In later life, tho' time and change might bring 

Their Avinter chill, and years of absence quell 

The 3'outhful ardor of its powerful spell ; 

A steadfast bond asserting its control, 

A true attachment anchored in the soul. 

Come hither, Muse ! nor longer stop to dream ; 
The hour is flitting — gather up your theme 
And bear it onward to a fitting close ; 
Let not your verse relapse to stolid prose. 

These modern times are different from the old : 
Improvements come with innovations bold. 
And skill and craft and industry have wrought 
Stranoe revolutions which the sires ne'er thought. 



190 CENTENNIAL POEM. 

The mauufaeturer and the artisau, 

The farmer, trader, the professional man, 

Have long ignored the old-time ways and arts ; 

And marvelous changes now in various parts 

Have taken place, till the fair town has grown 

A populous, indeed, a Avealthy town. 

The village here, once known as Chandler's Mills, 

Lapped in the valley, flanked by ancient hills 

On either hand, hath spread its borders wide, 

And feels to-day almost a city's pride. 

The mill stream winding from the lake above, 

Is tasked full many a powerful wheel to move ; 

And the steam engine brings its force to bear. 

Screaming its shrill note on the startled air. 

What would the settlers of the old time say 

Could they stand here, on this centennial da}'. 

And see the progress of an hundred years, 

And hear the shouts, the p?eans, and the cheers? 

What would the veterans say ? How would they gaze 

Around in strange bewilderment, and raise 

Their trembling hands and voices in surprise, 

Till tears of joy should moisten their dim eyes ! 



Who are the men who've helped build up the town, 

And laid of late their earthly burdens down ; 

Whose generous hearts were with large love imbued, 

Whose labors live, a legacy of good ; 

Whose memory green is fondly cherished here, 

Whose ashes sleep within the church-yard near? 

They claim some mention at our hands to-day : 

We have a debt of gratitude to pay 

Which this good town with all its wealth and pride 

Can poorly pay, and ne'er can lay aside. 



CENTENNIAL POEM. 191 

The white-haired ^father who 'nenth yoiidev roof 

Preached words of life, enforced with many a proof. 

Who by example and by i)recept tanght, 

And for long years in every good work wrought, 

Did well his part for the dear town he loved 

And closed a life of labors well-api)ioved. 

Another, too, yet in a different sphei-e, 

With kindly impulse left his blessing here ; 

O'er whose low grave the monumental stone 

Was reared by grateful townsmen, as to one, 

A benefactor genial, kind, and good ; 

A man of culture, generously imbued 

With native gifts of intellect and heart, 

A keen, quick mind, most liberal to imi)art 

Its stores of knowledge, brilliant, too, with wit 

Whose ready shafts would like an arrow hit ; 

A master of the pen, who if to-day 

He walked with us, would give his genius play 

And bring to these festivities a cheer 

Xone else could bring and hold each listeninu' ear. 

We'll let him rest 'neath his memorial stone, 

Here where his life was spent and labor done. 

And cherish long, whatever fortune comes, 

The honored name of genial fDr. Holmes. 

'Tis time to stop. In sooth, how short is time : 
Yet time is long when drags a tedious rhyme. 
Much must be left unsaid, full much unsung : 
Some random sheets shall here aside be Hung, 
And we will euil) the headstrong, wayward Muse, 
That flighty bird that warl)les so profuse. 



*\lc\\ David Tluuslon, lor nearly fifty years Congregational minister 
in town. 

tl)r. Ezekiel Holmes, a prominent citizen of Wintliro)), who dicil iliere 
February il, 1865, then editor ol The Maine Farmer. 



192 CENTENNIAL POEM. 

But this protracted stauza should not cease 

And die away in these sweet times of peace 

Without one earnest Avord — oue loud halloo — 

For Winthrop boys who with " the boys in blue,'* 

Struck the grim monster of secession dowu 

And gave their laurels to the good old town. 

The days are fresh before us, with the glare 

Of gleaming bayonets and the wild blare 

Of war's dread trumpet calling loud : " To arms I 

Defend the country, save her flag from harms ! " 

The fire enkindled, ah. how soon it burned ! 

The spirit of the ancient days returned, 

And Winthrop boys, as promptly as of yore. 

Were on the war-path, sword in hand, once more. 

No boastful valor showy on parade. 

But shrinkiug timid Avhere the bullets played, 

Marred their fair records. On the field of strife 

Full many bled and some surrendered life. 

They speak to us on this centennial day 

With words more eloquent than tongue can say, 

And lay an offering on the altar here 

Which this old town may well be proud to bear. 

Farewell, the Muse ! This is indeed the last ; 
But look ! what vision from the misty past 
Is this that moves across our pathway now 
With moderate pace, all cumbersome and slow ; 
What lumbering wagon of the days of old ; 
What old black horse whose years are all untold. 
Whose head and tail and fetlocks all hang low. 
Whose tattered harness, built an age ago. 
Was made the strain of time's hard wear to stand ; 
AYhat gray, old man who drives with palsied hand, 
And looks about with quite indifferent gaze 
On all the folly of these modern days ; 



CENTENNIAL POEM. 103 

Whose pride is with the past, who stops his team 
In yonder street, and seems to sit and dream 
And wonder what this motley crowd are at. 
Gazing at him, his team, his coat, and hat. 
As if the like were never seen before. 
And were not stilish in the days of yore ? 
We know him now, tho' we were but a babe 
When he was old — this same old *" Uncle Jabe," 
Welcome, old man, we'll grasp you by the hand ! 
You are the sole survivor in the land 
Of those old veterans who did speed the plow 
In this good town, near eighty years ago. 
Thrice welcome now, for you have lived to see 
This gala day, witii your great country free, 
And your old township prospering all the while 
Beneath the bow of Heaven's approving smile : , 
A boon vouchsafed by Providence to few. 
Therefore a welcome hand we reach to you ! 

Farewell the Muse, coy mistress of all song ! 
Farewell at last ; the end approached full long 
At length is reached. Enchantress, fare thee well ! 
Hushed be the echo of thy minstrel spell. 
'Tis gone — our har|> is on the willow bough : 
The blue-eyed maid retiring, leaves us now. 
And goes serenely through the welkin blue. 
Waving to us, as we to all, adieu. 



*Mr. .Tabcz Bacon, upwards of ninety years ol' ago and the uIiK'tit inlialiil^inl 
of Wintlirop at the time of the centennial celeltration. 



